My Second Chance
by dorianblue
Summary: What if Daphne had left Seattle with Clive? NilesDaphne fic set in an alternate S7.
1. Your New Cuckoo

**_Notes: _**An AU fic – Daphne married Clive and runs into Niles in London three years later. The idea (and title) for this fic came from reading the final scene from the original script of _The Two Mrs Cranes_, in which Frasier and Niles are comforting Daphne.

**Niles: **_re: Clive_ I've got another one. He would have wanted you to move.

**Daphne: **I would've moved.

**Frasier: **Daphne, I'm sure if you just bide your time he'll give you a second chance.

**Daphne: **This was my second chance.

**Niles: **You'll get another. I believe that if two people are meant to be together sooner or later they will be. Years may pass, years filled with frustration and missed connections. But the day will come when they just fall into each other's arms and jet off to a beautiful Caribbean island, though France is nice too.

**Daphne: **I'm not sure I believe you, but thank you, Dr Crane.

**Niles: **You're welcome, Mrs Crane.

The names of the chapters are song titles, with lyrics from the relevant song at the beginning of each part.

Rated PG-13 for language and suggestive stuff.

**My Second Chance**

_by dorianblue_

**Part One: Your New Cuckoo**

_I saw you there_

_I stopped and stared_

_The curly girlie smiled_

_You really were_

_Too close to her_

_And people just went by_

**- The Cardigans**

Daphne sat staring out the window of the Tube, watching the blandness of the London underground pass her by. It had been one of those serendipitous days when she'd found herself thinking about the Cranes. Her quick visit to the antique sale had seen her almost crash into a smiling, balding man in a Zegna suit. When she'd gone for coffee at her favourite spot, a man with a cane and a dog on a leash had passed by the window. Of course, he'd been blind, but still …

She sighed. She only ever seemed to think about the Cranes when she was stressed out. The Doctors Crane would no doubt tell her that this was because when life got hard, she subconsciously wanted to revert to a time when she lived in a house full of men; the Crane patriarchy being, in essence, a more pleasant version of her childhood. Still, thinking about the Cranes wasn't going to solve any problems. She'd been living in London a month and still hadn't found any steady work. True, she had alimony from Clive, but she wanted to be working, standing on her own two feet again.

Her mind began to drift as she gazed around at her fellow passengers. Across the aisle and slightly behind her there was a slim, pretty woman with short black curly hair and gorgeous pearl earrings. It was her expression, though, that caught Daphne's imagination. She was staring dreamily at the man next to her, who was curled up tidily against the glass, fast asleep. Daphne's gaze now turned to the man –

She started, emitting a barely audible cry. The man was Dr Niles Crane! She clapped a hand reflexively over her mouth, squinting in his general direction. It was him all right. Good lord, she hadn't seen him in three years. Her delayed reaction was justified, then – plus, he _looked _different. His hair was shorter and darker, less boyish. His clothes were more casual, too – just as well, since the Tube was probably not the natural habitat of Armani suits and suspenders. His face, though, startled her with its familiarity – the angular features, the small, wry mouth, the hard corners of his jaw. Presently he began to stir and she turned away, jittery. She dug through her bag for her copy of the _Evening Standard _and held it discretely in front of her face as she spied on him from over the top of the page.

She turned back just in time to see him give the woman with the gorgeous pearl earrings a soft, lingering kiss, one that held the unmistakeable promise of sex. Daphne lowered the newspaper, fascinated. The couple smiled contentedly as he slid an arm around her and brushed his lips against her temple. He pressed his face against her hair, then, and shot his furtive glance all around the carriage from over the top of her head.

Daphne's jaw dropped as his eyes zoned in on hers. She saw them widen, just before she hastily, pointlessly hid behind the paper again.

"_Daphne_!" His voice sounded strangled, whether with amusement or fright, Daphne couldn't tell. She cowered behind the newspaper, mortified but still not quite ready to make eye contact again. He called her name again, less certain this time, more quizzical. Suddenly the newspaper was snatched from her hands, and there was Dr Niles Crane, grinning down at her. She realised suddenly that she'd been biting her lip, and when she released it her mouth flew into an unrestrained, joyful smile.

He seemed to falter a little then, looking at her in wonder. "Oh God, it _is _you ..."

Unable to take it anymore, seeing her friend looking down at her, so lost, she flung her arms around him, squeezing for all she was worth.

"Oh, God, Daphne …" He released her and pulled back to watch, his eyes flitting from side to side as though his vision were swimming.

"It's nice to see you too, Niles," she grinned, his name slipping out naturally. "Although I'd never see you here, of all places. The Tube?"

He giggled. "Well, Frasier insisted we had to take at least one trip. Get the full London experience, so to speak. Of course, the Freudian in him led to some rather unfortunate puns which we chose to ignore."

She laughed. It was the same Niles Crane, alright. They sank down in their seats opposite each other, their knees touching.

"Well … wow," she exclaimed, finally needing to break the silence.

"Yeah," he giggled. He gazed at her in rapture for a few more seconds, before turning abruptly to call across the aisle: "Mel! Mel! Come here, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

The curly-haired woman with the gorgeous earrings approached, cautiously sitting down next to Niles. Daphne deflated, somewhat resenting the intrusion into their reunion.

"Daphne, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Mel. Mel, this is Daphne – a very dear friend."

"Really?" Mel said, shaking Daphne's hand politely. "Niles hasn't mentioned you before."

Daphne was taken aback. "Well, we – we haven't seen each other in, um, in quite some time," she stammered.

"Yes – Daphne left Seattle three years ago to marry an old flame," said Niles, filling in the blanks.

Mel seemed to visibly relax. "How romantic!" she smiled.

Niles squeezed his girlfriend's hand before turning back to Daphne. "So, how _is _old Clive, anyway? I do hope he's forgiven me for masquerading as your husband that time."

Daphne sighed inwardly, examining the floor, pock-marked with chewing gum. This was never fun – it had a dreadful, repetitive pang about it. It was sort of like the feeling she had as a teenager, just before her A Levels. "So, how's the study going?" well-meaning aunts and uncles would ask over and over, this being the standard pleasantry they trotted out when engaging with any eighteen-year-old. She would utter some inane, automatic reply, wanting to scream.

This was how she felt, except worse.

"Clive's fine, as far as I know. He and I … well, we split up three months ago," she mumbled eventually.

Niles looked like he wanted to jump from the train. "Daphne, I'm sorry. Are you doing okay?"

She nodded, managed a smile, even. "Yes. I'm living here in London now, actually."

"Oh, marvellous! Good for you, I mean." Niles stumbled over his words. "If there's anything I can do …"

"Anything _either _of us can do," Mel clarified.

"… You were so wonderful to me when Maris and I split, I really am grateful, I don't know if I ever told you …"

"Thank you, Niles," Daphne smiled, her tone signifying to him that he could stop talking now.

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry for being an idiot. I really had no idea that you two had … well … you know."

Daphne nodded philosophically. _Well, how _could_ he know?_

She cast her mind back, to when she'd said goodbye in a metallic, impersonal airport, pledging letters and phone calls, but knowing in her heart of hearts that she'd never deliver on that promise.

She'd felt an overwhelming excitement and giddiness, and a vague sense of pity for the three men standing before her. All of them would have trouble getting on without her, she knew.

She hadn't felt sad or lonely, the warm tug of Clive's hand displacing her from the present and speaking to her of married life, a secure future.

She'd forgiven Mr Crane his short, curt, grunted goodbyes. The pain in his face was testament enough of what she'd meant to him.

She'd wriggled instinctively out of dear Dr Crane's bracing hug, smiling and well-wishing even as the tears slalomed out of the corners of his eyes.

And lastly, him. He'd pressed his mouth to her cheek for a good three or four seconds, and made a half-contented, half-sorrowful murmur when he hugged her. His eyes were glazed and dull; his manner, quiet and accepting. She felt guilty letting go of him.

He seemed to know something the other two didn't.

He seemed to know her excuses by heart, in chronological order. First, that she'd be too busy settling in and reacquainting herself with her family, her old friends. Next, that her relationship with Clive would be in its first flush of passion and she'd have little time for anything else. Then, that she'd start to miss them, and the prospects of hearing the eagerness in their voices over the phone line would seem too much to handle. But that would pass, and finally it would become too complicated to call, to explain why it had taken her so long, to claw for topics of conversation still relevant to both parties.

His was the most final goodbye of all.


	2. Your Love Is Like Las Vegas

**Part Two: Your Love Is Like Las Vegas**

_Your love is like a city I visited  
Your love is like a city that burned me good  
Oh Las Vegas  
I could only afford one weekend  
_**- The Thrills**

Niles rested his forehead against the wall of the shower. The jet lag, which had been weighing down on him since they'd arrived in Heathrow that morning, had dissipated almost violently the moment he saw _her _again. Just a few hours ago he'd bitterly regretted forgetting to bring his slumber mask onto the plane. Now he couldn't imagine ever wanting to sleep again.

What was it about that woman that was so damned … what? 'Alluring' was the best he could come up with. Or maybe 'radiant.' To him, she was not just beautiful. Nor was she merely beautiful and sweet-natured. It was like her gorgeous personality _informed _her beauty, permeated it, in a way that made Niles certain that he'd always be attracted to her, even if she became old and grey and plump in a grandmotherly sort of way. It made him certain he'd always love her.

But where had that love got him? Well, a lot of places, emotionally – to the heights of delirium right down to the depths of despair. When he was around her, he felt helpless and giddy, tense and idiotic, excited and frightened. It was an odd, delicious kind of anguish. All of those emotions had stretched, yawned and emerged from hibernation in the twenty minutes they'd spoken on the train. And all of those emotions would come hurtling back with force that evening at the dinner he'd so senselessly insisted upon.

Eventually he emerged from the shower and towelled himself furiously. _Why in the name of God did we have to choose _that _carriage? That mode of transport? This country, for that matter!_ Not that it hadn't been earth-shatteringly wonderful to see her again. But that was the thing. He was tired of having his earth shattered by this woman.

In fact, the only good thing about Daphne's leaving had been the knowledge that he'd never see her again. The pining, the angst, the yearning would stop. Never again would he be tormented by love dangled in front of his face, only to be snatched away. A future hanging there, never to be fulfilled. Yes, she would be married – but better married in Manchester than married across down, at the dinner table, on his couch. Over time he could even delude himself into believing that she wasn't _really _that stunning; she hadn't been _that _graceful; he hadn't _really _been in love with her.

All those years of loving Daphne had left him exhausted, directionless – an old man at forty. But Mel made him happy – to just the right level of joy he felt he could comfortably handle. To the level where he still felt like himself – a sane, rational man.

She was stylish, pretty and refined, and she was connected to all the right people. Well, that was what had attracted him to her at first – and Frasier wasn't long in pointing out that those qualities had drawn him to Maris too. But Mel was so much more than that. Mel was everything he ever wanted Maris to be.

On the surface, of course, she could be hard and frosty, and anyone else might condemn her for these flaws. But Niles was a psychiatrist, and he recognised a defence mechanism when he saw one. She was a high-flying career woman in a man's world; she'd been burned badly by her divorce. But dig a little deeper, and a different person emerged. She was witty and eloquent, and vulnerable and sensitive. This above all – she loved him. Not the way Maris loved him – the way you love a pet. Not platonically, the way Daphne did. Mel loved him the way he'd always wanted to be loved.

He didn't want to burn with passion or throb with desire anymore. He just wanted to be with a woman and feel comfortable and safe and happy. Was that too much to ask?

* * *

She knew Niles wasn't telling her everything. He'd been suspiciously quiet on the way back to the hotel, and when she'd made casual enquiries about Daphne, she was met with a wall of "just an old friend"s and other assorted clichés.

The entire situation was mildly worrying. Though Niles had never mentioned Daphne, Mel knew who she was. When Niles had gone to work after the first time she'd spent the night – it must have been the fourth or fifth date – she'd slipped into his study to do the necessary research on his past relationships. Affairs, love children, Las Vegas marriages – these things had to be checked. After all, she had to be sure she could really trust him.

First, she'd switched on his computer and Googled him. The web results were mostly to do with his psychiatric practice – boards he was on, articles he'd written, research he'd conducted – but the first result in the images section was of her own Niles tangoing passionately with a Ms Daphne Moon. From what she could gather from the page, a vacuous blog maintained by a gushing socialite, the showy dance between the just-separated psychiatrist and the mysterious English beauty had, a few years back, caused quite the stir in the upper tiers of the Seattle social hierarchy. For a couple of days, at least.

She then rifled through his desk drawers, bookshelves and nightstands for any evidence of this Daphne woman – pictures, letters, keepsakes – but surprisingly found none. There weren't any Moons in his Filofax. There was, however, a 'Daphne Roddy', but there was no address or number written beside it. The name was also underlined several times and written in block capitals, as opposed to the spiky scrawl like the others; he seemed to have been leaning awfully hard on his pen at the time. The whole business was inscrutable.

Eventually she called her friend Libby, who belonged to Niles's country club. Libby informed her that while Niles and Daphne had been all over each other that particular night, she'd never attended any social functions with him ever again. She also revealed that Daphne had been Frasier Crane's housekeeper. Libby could understand, she said. The poor man had just been kicked out of his home by that unappreciative loon of a wife of his, and so had embarked on an ill-conceived fling with the help to mend his battered ego.

Mel sighed in empathy. _We've all been there._ It had obviously been a mistake, and since he never brought it up, she wasn't going to embarrass him by prying. As skeletons went, it was a pretty harmless one.

But the way those two had looked at each other on the train; the way they'd held each other, not just a polite arm-hug, but with bodies fully aligned ... it signalled to Mel that this woman meant more to Niles than a regrettable one-night stand in the midst of marriage problems. It indicated to her that she'd have to be on her guard tonight, with her boyfriend and this Daphne taking a nostalgic trip down a mysterious memory lane. She had finally met a man who was caring and sensitive and fascinating – if a touch too needy, sometimes – and she was not going to let him slip through her fingers.

Dinner would certainly be interesting.

Mel sighed. She knew she was on this dangerous territory with this man. She made her living from pointing out other people's flaws but the more she knew Niles, the more his imperfections disappeared in her eyes. _I must be in love. _

She looked over at him, perched on the arm of the vacant couch, twirling his sherry glass in his fingers. He was so gorgeous in a refined, subtle way. The inky dark blue of his eyes that unsettled you with their intensity at one moment and brightened your day with their twinkling the next. The faint outline of his fair stubble on his flat, pale cheek. And his mouth, almost feminine, that seemed to have been specifically shaped for kissing.

Even his slightly receded hairline only seemed to accentuate the fine bones of his face. For now, that is. Five years time, and he'd probably be in the same boat as his brother.

_I wonder if he'd consider hair implants …_


	3. Your Love Goes On And On

**_Notes: _**In case you're confused, yes, this part contains a flashback.You'll know it when you read it.Enjoy!

**Part Three: Your Love Goes On And On**

_And when I feel like I don't know_

_And my heart is sinking like a stone_

_Your breath is like a friend_

_And I can breathe in love again_

**- The Hothouse Flowers**

Daphne sat tensely in the small restaurant, half-dreading the imminent dinner. In a way she was glad Mel would be there. For his girlfriend's sake, Niles would probably hold off asking those heavy questions – firstly, why had she and Clive split up, and the clincher: why had she cut all ties with his family?

Plus, with three people, the conversation was less likely to dry up, and the thing she was most worried about was the possibility that she and Niles would have nothing to say to each other. Leaving the friendship behind in Seattle had been her way of preserving it, of nostalgically leaving it hanging there in time. Would an awkward dinner taint her memories forever?

Her heart jumped into her mouth as she saw him enter the restaurant – alone. He approached stiffly, back in a black suit, and whispered something to the maitre'd.

"Just the two of you? A more intimate table, then, yes?"

Niles nodded to the man. Only when they were seated in a secluded corner did he acknowledge Daphne's presence beyond eye contact.

"I'm sorry for being late, Daphne – I'm afraid Mel won't be joining us," he said, looking irritable. "We, uh, had a tiff of sorts."

"Anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked gently.

He made a dismissive motion. "Oh, you know, just usual couple stuff," he sighed. "Commitments, communication … cosmetic surgery ..."

Daphne raised an eyebrow but, as so often with pronouncements from the Crane boys, decided she'd probably happier not pursuing the issue. It ceased to matter then, anyway, because just then he dropped the napkin he'd been surreptitiously ripping to shreds and summoned up a smile, just for her. She returned it.

"So, shall we order?"

An hour and the best part of a Chateau Petrus later, and Daphne's fears of a stilted conversation were being pushed aside by the sort of warm alcoholic haze that causes one to gaze adoringly at everything in sight. Right then, it was her dinner companion, and both of them were spluttering with laughter.

"Wow, that Donny must've been a bloody genius!"

"He sure was."

"How did she react, then?"

"Huh?"

"When you told her you'd – how did you put it? _Flushed out_ her family secret?" she asked gleefully.

"What do you think? She went –" he paused to snicker into his wine glass – "she went round the bend!"

Daphne collapsed onto the table. She could never resist a pun, especially a horrible one. She glanced at him through her giddiness as he finished recounting the tale of his drawn-out divorce. Trust him to make an amusing anecdote out of something that must have caused him considerable pain. But then he always did that – masked his marriage problems with bizarre one-liners about his wife; resolving scars left by the Kriezel brothers, both physical and emotional, by poking fun at his younger self. And there was something else bothering her … what was it?

"Niles," she began, the name sounding too large and full in her dry mouth. "Why didn't you ask me about _my _divorce?"

He wiped away his tears of mirth hastily, slightly perturbed by the serious turn in conversation. "Umm … well, I did, in a way. Earlier, I asked if you were happy, you know, with your life here, and you said yes."

"Yeah? So?"

He sighed. "Well, if you'd said no, that would've been my cue to gently inquire about – about you and Clive."

"A person can say they're happy, and not be happy," she said, irritated.

"I know that," he answered cautiously. Then, shyly peering at her: "Don't think you're fooling me, by the way."

She said nothing.

"Look, I'm sorry, Daphne," and he did sound awfully contrite. "It's just – I didn't want to pry. And I thought if you wanted to tell me, you would. But still I had to know if you were okay, and to inform you – ah, let you know that …" He coughed a little. "That I care about you."

She smiled. Strange that it was only now she realised how much she'd missed him. But then, he was very possibly the _nicest _man she'd ever known (not that she'd ever presumed she really _knew_ him). Oh, his father and his brother were good sorts too – cranky and pompous, respectively, on the surface, but kind and decent when it came down to it. But that was just it – when it_ came down _to it. Niles was always like that. It didn't matter if they were out at a posh society event or sprawled on the sofa watching movies or even just loitering in the kitchen – it was in his nature. Nice.

Her whole life, Daphne had been used to being the nice one, her good cheer taken advantage of, taken for granted. Whether with her parents, her gaggle of brothers, the Cranes, Clive, Joe or any other of her moody boyfriends, she'd always been the one expected to make the effort, to patch things up, to build bridges. It had been pleasantly surprising to meet someone who was prepared to meet her halfway, who reflected her niceness back to her. He made her feel special; he reaffirmed her self worth. He was so _nice_.

And he was looking at her. "Daphne?"

She giggled. "Look at you, all confused. You don't know what to say, do you?" She giggled some more and he squirmed, but she couldn't resist teasing him. "And you supposed to be a psychiatrist! A student of the human condition?"

He smiled self-consciously. "Well Daphne, I've found that when it comes to you, I've found little use for – for what my father would call 'book smarts.'" He paused. "You're hard to pin down. I know, I've tried." Then he blushed, as if he'd just said something horribly inappropriate.

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

His eyes shot up to hers again. "Err … it was. Daphne … did you _want_ me to ask – about your divorce?"

He was back to stuttering and stammering. It was rather winning.

She smiled to herself. "Maybe I did," she said softly. Let that hang there. Then: "Tell me about your father's physical therapist."

His manner audibly lightened. "Her name's Lisbeth, she's Hispanic and yes, true to the cliché, very sassy," he said, grinning. "Dad likes her a lot and she's good friends with Roz, too."

_Roz_, Daphne mused. She hadn't spoken to her since that infamous showdown that time in Frasier's apartment. Not that she'd been angry with her for flirting with Clive – not for long, anyway – but they'd just never been that close. "And what about your brother? Does he like her?"

He grimaced. "Oh … Frasier hit on her the first week she was working. She turned him down, and his pride's been wounded ever since."

"Well, good enough for him!" Daphne fumed. "For shame! I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."

"Uh …" He looked lost.

"I mean, lusting after the live-in physical therapist – can you _imagine _anything more inappropriate?"

He stared at her. "Not right now, no."

She giggled at his expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, Niles – I suppose I'm just a bit sensitive on the subject. I mean, between me nine brothers I've heard enough physical therapist jokes to last a lifetime."

"I presume it doesn't involve them walking into a bar," Niles said wryly.

"Who – the physical therapists or me brothers?" Daphne joked, and they chuckled together. "So, what do you think of her?"

He peered at her through shining eyes. "Who?"

"Lisbeth."

"Oh." He stopped a moment and began again, more seriously: "Well, she's a very nice woman, Lisbeth, but y'know, she had pretty big shoes to fill."

Daphne gave him a radiant smile.

"To be honest, she hasn't quite managed to work her way into my heart the way you did." He swallowed. "I mean, uh … _our _hearts."

Their eyes met over the table. And locked.

"Yes, of course," she murmured.

"All three of us. All three of us Crane boys, loved you. Err … love you ..."

"Yes, you do." She was whispering now, for some reason. The way he said that _word _… she could sense that his foot was somewhere near hers and she had a sudden urge to slip off her heel and reach out …

He took a deep breath. "Daphne, I –"

And then a certain too-musical voice cut through the air, hacking at Daphne's ears. "Niles, darling!

Niles spun violently in his chair. "Mel?"

* * *

"Roz?" 

She sighed, and took a swig of her coffee. "Yeah, Niles?"

"Maybe … we should talk about this. Discuss the ins and outs, and so forth."

She cackled. "I guess we could do that. First it went in, then out, in, then out again –"

"No!" he interrupted, shocked, but ended up laughing along with her. "You were really great," he finished in the end, rather weakly. He was wearing his schoolboy grin again, and little else.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. My God woman, you certainly know your stuff. I wasn't even aware that … _things_ like that were possible. You're incredible."

"I guess you kept up pretty okay," she said nonchalantly, but he swore he could see a hint of a smile on her face before she turned away to apply mascara.

"Why thank you for that bounteous praise. My cup runneth over."

"No stud, your _time _runneth over. My nanny's gonna be here in ten minutes and I don't want Alice to see Uncle Niles naked. Hell, I wouldn't wish _that _on my worst enemy."

"Right." He felt a little disorientated. Up he got and absentmindedly dressed. Then he walked over to Roz and hugged her, giving her a quick kiss on the neck.

At that, she pulled back. "Niles. Look at me. I'm not Daphne."

"Err … what?"

"No Mancunian accent, you know? That should be your first clue. That, and we have _really _different hair."

"I dunno what you're talking about." His voice was slurred from lack of sleep. Oh yes, and alcohol.

She led him to the bed and sat him down. "Look. I know you miss her, okay? I know you had this dream of how the two of you would be. How you had this weird connection, and then one day, bam! you'd fall into bed together."

He flushed. "Umm … a kiss would be nice either."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Look, all I'm saying is, that's not us. You and me. This … _thing_ we have … don't try to make it something it's not, okay? Don't try to create what you could've had with _her_."

"But … I mean it's not like I'm trying to, but … our 'weird connection', as you say …"

"We insult each other, Niles. I know you shrinks like to talk about defence mechanisms and misplaced attraction and all that, but sometimes an insult is just an insult."

"But … then we had sex!" Suddenly he was confused again, and frowned. "Didn't we?"

She smiled. "Yes, Niles. But equally, sometimes sex is just sex."

And then, on impulse, she kissed his forehead.

* * *

Mel approached the table, sliding her hands down Niles's chest from behind. "Hello Daphne," she said politely, before adding: "Niles, sweetheart, I'm so sorry about earlier." 

"Mel, this isn't –"

"The truth is I like your hair just the way it is," she said, and kissed him right on his hairline as if to prove it. _Well, it's not a lie, exactly._ "Forgive me? I've had the maitre'd get us back our original table."

"That's, uh … well you see, we've already eaten …"

"But not dessert!" she exclaimed triumphantly as the maitre'd hovered above them expectantly. "Let's sit and eat dessert together."

Daphne stood up. "Yes, let's," she said graciously.

Mel smiled.

* * *

Daphne couldn't stop staring. With her right hand Mel was forking chunks of Niles's tiramisu and bringing it delicately to her tightly smiling lips; with her left hand she was caressing Niles's hand, arm, thigh, neck, shoulders … Daphne watched that little hand dart from spot to spot, abstractly marvelling at the depths of the woman's possessiveness. That Niles was sitting there passively, smiling a little but unable to look anyone in the eye, came as no surprise to her. He'd always been bashful. Meek. Gentle. Sensitive. 

Daphne had always found Niles rather adorable – like a perfectly-groomed, loyal, albeit helpless little puppy.

He had changed. No, that wasn't right. He was the same, but now complete with added extras. What was it he had gained?

Mel, catching her eye, shot her a watery smile across the table. _Oh, right._

He had a girlfriend. He had confidence. He had independence.

And somehow, all that made him a little less hers.


	4. Your Face

**Part Four: Your Face**

_There's a road that follows everywhere you go_

_I stole your golden chaser_

_But I didn't mean to steal_

_It's not in my nature_

_But if you try again I'll fall_

_And if you want to save it all_

_Then all you have to do is_

_Give me that look again_

**- The Frames**

"Niles, may I ask you a question?"

Niles picked up a sugar sachet, shook it needlessly, then proceeded to tear. "Certainly, Frasier."

"Are you sleeping with Roz?"

Sugar granules shot everywhere. "Erm … _sleeping _with Roz? No, of course not, that's preposterous."

"Fine. Are you having sex with Roz?"

He couldn't lie to his brother, but he at least had the decency to look apologetic. "Well, yes. I am doing that."

"For heaven's sake, Niles! Have you completely lost your mind? You two are entirely _the _most incompatible couple I could ever imagine!"

"Calm down, Frasier, she made it quite clear to me that it isn't like that."

"Isn't like what?"

"Well, it's just as you say – we're sleeping together, that's as far as it goes. Well," he snickered in remembrance, "that and the fact that she's trying to expose me to the less fine things in life. The other night, we ate curly fries in bed while watching _Star Wars_," he said proudly.

Frasier's eyebrow arched. "Really."

"Yes. She calls me her 'young apprentice'," Niles finished gleefully, before dissolving into inane titters.

Frasier took a deep breath. "Let me make one thing very clear, Niles. I no more want to hear about your downward cultural mobility than I want to know your bawdy pet names for each other! What I _would _like explained to me is how the two people I hold most dear – my brother and my best friend, no less –"

Niles sensed a speech coming on.

"– Could have this entire relationship independent of me and without my knowledge! The _impertinence _of your endeavour is absolutely –"

"'Scuse me, Frasier, I need to go to the counter." He got up abruptly, wheeled around, and leaned against the coffee bar with as much nonchalance as he could muster. He hadn't meant to deny his brother his pain, but he had just noticed a certain Ms Doyle enter the café, and as yet he was unable to be around her without getting disproportionately aroused or giggling like a six-year-old.

"Hey Fras," he heard her greet from behind his back.

"Hello Roz," Frasier huffed in return. "I've just been discussing your little situation with Niles."

"Oh, you're not going to make a big deal of it, are you Frasier? I'm starting to regret ever telling you."

"You did not _tell _me, I heard you leaving a husky-voiced message on his machine!" he burst out.

"Oh right. Well, same diff. Listen, about those promos, why don't I –"

"Um, excuse me. Don't you think we should discuss this?"

"Frasier, what's to discuss, now really?" she said, no nonsense.

His voice became higher with incredulity. "Well it's just … what are you _doing _with him? He says you don't want a serious relationship – but he's my little brother, Roz! You see how he just gives his heart away –"

"Believe me, that won't happen here," she said scornfully.

"But then – in God's name, why?"

"Maybe I just felt like it!" she burst out. "Maybe he felt like it too, so we did – ever think of that?"

"But, I mean, Niles is hardly your _type_, is he?"

Roz sighed. "As you would be the first to point out, Frasier, _every _man is my type. Well, every man except Noel."

"And me, it seems," said Frasier, wounded.

"Oh Fras … I could never sleep with _you_, we're –"

"– Too close as friends, yes, I know," he finished quietly.

Roz exhaled. "I dunno, Frasier. I guess – I guess I just got tired of seeing him getting crushed all the time, you know? In case you haven't noticed, the poor guy's been walking around in a heartbroken daze ever since Daphne left. And don't get me started on Maris the Heiress."

Niles felt little slivers of dismay worming their way through him. _Daphne and Maris … Daphne …_

"I just thought I'd … show him that it doesn't always have to be like that," Roz continued. "That relationships and sex can be, y'know, _fun_ things."

Frasier held up a hand, signalling for her to stop. "I've been trying to buck him up myself, to no avail. Even recommended a counsellor to him if he felt like going into deep analysis."

"Oh you shrinks, always with the psychobabble," she said dismissively. "Am I the only one who wanted to help him in a practical way?"

"Well, I suppose for _hands-on _assistance – who better than you?" he said cattily.

"You take that back!"

"I most certainly will not! Have I mentioned how I am personally aggrieved by these goings-on? Could you _please _take a moment and explain to me how it is that the two people I hold most dear – my brother and my best friend, no less – could have this entire relationship independent of me and without my knowledge! The _impertinence _of your endeavour is absolutely …"

But Roz, having sensed a speech coming on, wasn't really listening. She finally made eye contact with Niles, still standing stiffly at the counter, and nibbled provocatively on her biscotti.

Secretly pleased, he rolled his eyes and turned away.

* * *

Mel watched her boyfriend warily. He had been standing in front of the full-length mirror for several minutes now, trying to decide between two ties. He would hold one up to his neck, stare at it, then pull it away to repeat the exercise with the other. She knew that focusing on small, insignificant details was something he only reverted to when especially nervous. It was as though if he could be perfectly dressed, at least he would be in control of something.

"It's alright, sweetie. Calm down."

"I'm calm," he said tersely, starting to knot the mauve tie but then thinking better of it.

She bristled. _If anyone should be withdrawn and grumpy, it should be me. This was supposed to be _our_ trip, and for the second day in a row we're choosing to spend our precious time with a former employee! But dare I complain? No, I put up with it! Because that's what you do when you love someone._

She tried again. "It's just brunch with Daphne, you know, and her brother – what was his name again, darling?"

"Billy."

"Billy," she repeated. "It's nothing fancy – why are you wearing a tie to brunch, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said moodily, attempting to fire both ties across the room. They fluttered to the ground a few metres away and he stood staring at the floor, at the result of his ineffectual tantrum.

Mel considered him for a moment. "Why don't you put this on, Niles," she said eventually, taking a casual Armani shirt from the wardrobe. "Hmm? Sweetie?"

"Uh … thank you," he muttered, pulling it on gingerly.

She gave him a kiss, and he returned it fiercely, but it didn't seem to lighten his mood.

No, that happened much later, when they met Daphne and her brother in a delightful bistro that Niles immediately dubbed his "Nervosa away from Nervosa"; only then did his manner become animated, did his eyes unglaze themselves, did his mouth start to curve into that slow, affectionate smile that was usually reserved just for her. Mel sat there, serenely stung as she was blatantly excluded from the excitable chatter, watching both Moons making moon eyes at her boyfriend – and noticing her boyfriend gazing back at one in particular. Libby's gossipy tones reverberated in her ears …

It was only when the subject of ballroom dancing came up – as Niles heartily thanked Billy for teaching Daphne who, in turn, taught him – that Mel felt qualified to speak. And her voice, when it came out, was that of a slighted, indignant child – brittle, cold and whiny.

"You wouldn't be referring to the night you danced together at the Snow Ball, would you? The night you very publicly made out, and embarked on your illicit affair? Excuse me."

As she stormed off, she was aware of their wide eyes tracing her exit and could almost feel the shocked silence she left behind.

She was losing him and couldn't stop.

* * *

Daphne brought the mismatched mugs to the coffee table and slumped down on the couch with her brother. Billy hadn't changed much in the four years she'd been away. The glasses frames had been updated, and the dark hair was now artfully mussed. But other than that, he was unchanged: same unnerving manner, same almost-handsome face, same shark-like smile.

Still single. Ever on the lookout.

"So, if you didn't_ really _have an 'illicit affair' with this Niles chap" – trust Billy to memorise juicy quotes from the conversation – "why did his girlfriend seem to think you had?"

Daphne shrugged. "I'm not sure. Well, their set has a tendency to gossip quite a bit. And it's not entirely unfounded, either. We _did_ make out." She paused, remembering. "Well actually, it was more of a kiss."

"Right," said Billy sceptically.

"A _brief _kiss," she clarified.

"Right."

"The illicit affair part – _no_ idea where that came from."

"Right." His tone was patronising now.

"Billy! I'm telling the truth!"

He was about to say "right" again, but after looking at her face, must have thought better of it. "It's just that it seemed plausible. Y'know, from the way you were acting around each other today." He paused. "You're quite sure there was no illicit affair?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" She cringed as she remembered the scenes in the coffee shop – Mel storming off and Niles, after recovering himself, scurrying after her. She let her head sink back into the cushions, half-hoping Billy would leave her to revisit the pleasanter aspects of the afternoon, and half-hoping he'd stay and help unravel her knotted ball of emotions. He was always good at that. _He'd have made a decent psychiatrist, if it weren't for his criminal tendencies._

Billy slurped his coffee, winced and spoke again. "I think he's rather hot, actually, Niles."

"I guessed as much when he went to the bathroom and you practically sprinted in after him."

She rolled her eyes as she recalled her brother's behaviour. "I'll just see if he needs a hand," he'd said, flashing his teeth as a mortified Daphne tried to make small talk with Mel while at the same time studiously avoiding eye contact

Billy nodded philosophically. "Yes, quite attractive – even if I _could _pick him up and put him in my backpack. Don't you agree?"

She hid a smile. "Mmm."

"He's got a very noble face."

She made another non-committal sound.

"Come on now Daph. You can't fool old William. I know you like him," he accused. "You were glowing all morning like some pregnant lady."

She didn't bat an eyelid, just let the words spill out of her mouth lazily, casually. "You may be right. But he has a girlfriend, not to mention lives in a whole other country. And besides, I – I find it hard to imagine, you know, _kissing _him or anything."

"I don't."

"Hush, you!" She failed to conceal her laughter this time. "I just … it would have to be perfect, you see. It'd have to be extraordinary, magical even, to be worth the risk. It's – it's almost like I'm _too _comfortable with him, you know?"

"No." This earned him a slap. "Lookit, Daphne. You may as well explore what's there with this chap. You haven't so much as had a snog since you and Clive split up."

"You think I don't know that?" There was a defensive edge to her tone.

"No, no. Of course you do," he said apologetically. "But I remember how happy you were during your marriage. How fun you were. In that respect, I miss Clive."

"You miss the free football strips from his sports shop, is what you miss."

"That too," he sighed. "But seriously, Daphne. Niles could make you happy, couldn't he?"

She didn't say anything for a while. "You know, I'm surprised you're pushing the two of us together. Shouldn't you be trying to win him over to the other team?"

He waved his hand. "Nah, there's no hope for him. He's too poncey to be gay."

Daphne giggled.

"Besides," he added. "I've seen the way he looks at _you_. No, not much hope for old William there, I'm afraid."

The smile froze on Daphne's face as the doorbell rang. "I'm not expecting anyone."

"Go ahead," Billy said lazily. "I'll busy myself in the kitchen."

"By looking for the beer, I presume," Daphne threw over her shoulder as she made her way to the front door of her flat.

Not surprisingly, Niles was standing behind it.

"Daphne," he said in anxious greeting. "I must apologise for the way – well, for brunch today. Mel – misunderstood something and I'd hate to think that I – we made you feel uncomfortable." His little speech, though stammered, smacked of rehearsal.

"That's alright," she said absently, feeling strangely detached from the situation. "Did she forgive you, then?"

"Err, yes, she forgave me. I explained, and she apologised, and she sends her apologies to you, too, though she didn't think that …"

He babbled on, but Daphne was no longer listening. The sounds of her brother clanging about in the kitchen seemed heightened, and she remembered their conversation on the couch. _Niles … the way he looks at you …could never imagine … too comfortable …_

Making a decision, she awkwardly seized Niles by the elbows and pressed her mouth to his, waiting expectantly for magic to take place. But it wasn't forthcoming.

No music swelled in the background, no fireworks went off overhead. There was no inner voice screaming _This is right, this is so, so right ..._

But then, he did start massaging her tongue with his own, and he did push her up against the door jamb, his hands starting on her hips and ending up in her hair.

And even as she shifted uncomfortably against the door frame, she wondered if perhaps magic was overrated.


	5. Your Song

**_Notes: _**The penultimate part. Many thanks to Renee and Nancy for their suggestions and comments about the last section of this chapter.

**Part Five: Your Song**

_I hope you don't mind_

_That I put down in words_

_How wonderful life is _

_While you're in the world_

**- Elton John**

"Ahem."

Startled, Daphne broke the kiss. She managed to extricate herself from Niles's attentions long enough to address Billy, whom she found standing before them, openly gawping and looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Bravo, sis. You certainly do work fast."

"Erm … yes." She wriggled out from between Niles and the doorframe and, with a glance at his shoes, started over towards the couch. Niles followed, walking rather gingerly, she noted. "Can you be on your way then?"

"I'll see myself out," he agreed, and shot Daphne a cheery thumbs-up behind Niles's back.

The door shut behind him and for one long, awkward moment, Daphne wished her brother would come back, just for something to fill this impossibly dead air.

"So … erm …"

"What?" She jumped on his sentence. "I – I mean … hrrmm."

They both rearranged themselves on the couch, half-turned towards each other, the leather squeaking softly beneath them.

"So … would you like a drink?"

"No thanks. Um … Daphne?"

"Yes?"

"What was that? The – kiss," he added unnecessarily.

She sighed. _Getting right to the point then, eh? _"Was it not alright?"

"Oh Daphne, it was more than alright! Can we go again?"

Daphne smiled faintly. He sounded like an excitable kid at a fairground. "Well … alright then."

He giggled nervously in that way he had, but then his smile fell away as he leaned in to gently kiss her, so very gently, his hands on the couch cushion to balance himself. She broke away with a sharp intake of breath, and they simply looked at each other for a moment, both calmer now.

Eventually he blurted, "I'm crazy about you, you know. Always have been, ever since –"

"I know," she said softly.

"You do?"

She nodded. "I figured it out a while ago. When things started to go wrong with – well, a while ago."

"Oh. I, uh – well, I guess I wasn't very subtle at times."

"No, you weren't," she said, laughing suddenly, trying to jettison some of the tension. "But I never really thought about it properly until I moved back here. There was a whole ocean between us – I guess I felt safe enough to decipher the signs." She smiled, self-consciously. "It – it was nice to think about … a nice ego booster."

He coughed. "Yes. Erm, Daphne …" He reached out a hand carefully, ran it lightly along her forearm. "What if I were to – continue?"

"What do you mean?"

He said it with deliberate determination, though his voice wavered slightly. "I mean, continue … being crazy about you." Then, a whisper: "How would you feel about that?"

Her mouth fell open then, and she felt something go through her that she hadn't felt since – _since …_

And all of a sudden the awkwardness, the hesitation was gone, replaced by an overwhelming need to be as near him as possible, to convey to him how very much he _touched _her, and she climbed into his lap and tucked her arms around his neck and somewhere along the way she began kissing him, too, slowly and teasingly. He made a muffled noise of pleasure against her mouth, which she loved – never had she been with someone so willing to be vulnerable, someone _so – _

The train of thought was lost as her whole being was suffused by a feeling of warmth and familiarity, of a luxurious condo in a rainy city, of the soft plinking of a piano, of the three men around which her world revolved and of lingering, dark blue eyes …

She felt something vibrate against her breast as a tinny arrangement of La Cucaracha rang out. Resenting the intrusion, she began to work her hand inside Niles's jacket, her fingers closing on his cell phone.

_Probably Frasier,_ her brain fuzzily suggested to her. It made sense that he'd interrupt them – _He's always like that, always managing to stick his nose in at the most inappropriate moments, God, I miss that man …_

Pulling the phone out, she broke the kiss long enough to push the Answer button and mutter "Bugger off, we're busy" into the mouthpiece, before playfully tossing it over her shoulder and dipping her mouth to his again …

"_Daphne_!"

She leaned back and looked at him questioningly. There was anguish in his tone – anguish, and even a hint of anger.

"What's the matter?" She smiled apologetically. "Sorry for just tossing it aside like that, it's probably alright, y'know those phones are very robust …"

"No, Daphne – that was Mel. That's the ringer I have for her – that means Mel."

The smile on her face slowly faded.

* * *

Daphne's whole body tensed and she lifted half her weight off of Niles, as though not quite sure whether to stay put or not. He solved the problem for her by muttering "Excuse me" and, catching her by the hips, moving her gently onto the couch beside him. Then he sheepishly reached for the phone on the ground. 

"Mel?"

But of course, she'd hung up. He called her back, but her phone was off as he'd expected. He straightened up, clicked the cell phone shut and sighed.

Daphne was gazing him with hurt, mortified doe eyes. He tried to avoid gazing back. "Niles, I am _so _sorry, I don't know what came over me, I –"

"It's alright," he said mildly, with the sort of detached kindness he used to employ when engaging with Maris's staff. He was just so _weary …_

"What will you do now?" There was a sort of dulled anxiety about her tone, if such a thing existed.

He sat down heavily beside her, staring ahead. "Go talk to Mel, I guess."

"Right." She inhaled suddenly – the breath whistled through her teeth. "Niles – please be honest with me."

"Of course."

She cleared her throat. "You really love her, don't you?"

With an acute sense of déjà vu, he replied: "You know, I do."

A pause, and then, with forced calm: "Why do you love her, Niles? Tell me."

He swallowed. "Um … well … she's err, bright. Witty. Ah, a wonderful conversationalist. Just … great company, for – for me." He glanced briefly at Daphne, and felt a sudden jolt of fright as it came home to him that the woman he was eulogising and the woman whose lipstick he was currently wearing were not one and the same. He ploughed on regardless. "And – she cares about me, you know?" _I don't know if you can appreciate what that feels like, Daphne, after Maris_. "It – she makes me feel like I can do anything."

She seemed a bit upset now. "Like … forget about me?"

He smiled a humourless smile, one of rueful resignation, as he reached out to drag a finger down her cheek.

"Never that, Daphne. Never that."

* * *

If romantic relationships had taught Mel anything, they had taught her to approach every bump in the road from a position of power. Make a bold statement. Allow for a graceful exit. Hide your emotions. 

Which is why, ever since she'd heard that dreaded accent primly instruct her to "bugger off", she'd been packing her belongings into her matching three-piece luggage set. Now she was seated on the edge of the king-size bed, arms crossed, waiting.

Niles arrived in after half an hour. "Hello Mel, I –" He stopped short. "Are you _going _somewhere?"

"Well, come to think of it – I _do_ have seat booked on a plane to Seattle that leaves in three hours," she replied with harsh pleasantness.

"You _what_?" At least he looked suitably alarmed. "Mel, what's – there's no _need _to –"

"Oh, but I think there is," she interrupted. "Once your boyfriend starts gadding about with his ex-maid whore – sorry, _physical therapist_" – she punctuated the title with as much iciness as possible – "it's time to cut the romantic getaway short, don't you think?"

He stood there, looking small and defeated. "Mel," he murmured, and the guilt in his tone was enough confirmation for her. It seemed he wasn't even going to offer the obligatory pointless defence.

She swallowed back a lump that had inexplicably arisen in her throat. _Oh Niles, I didn't want to believe it, I really didn't_ – "Well then, I guess I'll just leave."

She picked up her bags, and this seemed to spark him into sudden animation. He started forward, grabbed her by the arm. "Mel, it's not – please Mel, you mean so much more to me than this. At least let me explain."

_Don't want to hear don't want to hear don't want_ – "Save your pathetic excuses, Niles."

His bottom lip started to tremble. "Mel, I'm so sorry – it's not like you think, I really do lo-" But he couldn't finish the endearment, and Mel knew why. After what he'd done, it simply didn't stand up anymore.

"Let go of me, Niles. I haven't time for your pitiful stammering. Like I said, I have a plane ticket booked." She marched across to the door, luggage in tow.

He was still stationary in the centre of the hotel room. "Mel …"

She turned back as she exited, and mustered as much chill as she could. "Goodbye, Niles. Don't even try to call me."

Only in the lobby did cracks appear in her steely resolve. Dropping suddenly into a vacant armchair, she pressed a hand to her mouth, smothering her sobs.

After several calming breaths, she took out her cell phone and called the airline.

* * *

Though she hadn't dialled the number in upwards of three years, somehow Daphne knew it by heart. She suspected she'd only learned to recite the digits unthinkingly in recent months, when life had got lonely, and the phone numbers of old friends were mantras to repeat in the dark, like a talisman against solitude. 

"Hello?" The familiar female drawl reached her ear. Daphne floundered, not having conceived of an opening sentence.

"_Hello_?" came the impatient reiteration. "Alice, put that down!"

Daphne smiled slightly. She had been thrilled – and oddly fascinated – when Niles had told her Roz had a daughter. _I mean, _Roz

"Hi Roz," she said eventually, rather sheepishly. "It's Daphne."

A pause. A not-quite-believing, yet still wary, tone. "_Daphne_? Daphne _Moon _– err, Roddy?"

Daphne cleared her throat. "You were right the first time."

"_Ohhh_." Roz, bless her intuition for these things, seemed to have twigged immediately. "So, you guys split up, huh?"

"Yes. Um, we did." _Still not exactly sure how to answer that question …_

"Oh. Well, gee, sorry Daph." Roz must have realised how callous this sounded, because she went back to amend it. "I mean, I really am sorry and I hope you're okay, but – is this why you're calling? And – now?" Her voice took on an agitated edge. "Hell, you didn't even call to say you got married in the first place! All any of us got was a printed card and a lousy piece of cake in the post! I mean, what good's a piece of cake when you're –"

"Okay, point taken," Daphne said quickly. "I'm sorry, it's just – well, I heard your good news, that you had a little girl, and well, I thought I'd call and congratulate you!" she exclaimed, her tone lilting up into a bright, warm voice.

"Umm, thanks, Daph, I – guess. But you know – she's almost two years old now."

Here there was an awkward slump in the conversation – _before it's even really begun_, Daphne thought ruefully. "You're right. I'm sorry – I know it must seem a little odd, me calling out of the blue like this. I'll just – I'll ring you some other time, okay?"

"No!" Roz exclaimed, sounding mildly panicked. "No – uh, look. Let me call Frasier on my cell phone, and I can get him to talk real loud and I'll hold it up to the mouthpiece –"

"Roz, really I just called to talk to you."

"Okay," came the guarded reply. "So … what's up?"

Daphne sighed in relief. "Well, it's a long story. I was on the tube the other day and –"

"Y'know, I really wish you'd talk to Frasier and Marty. Those guys miss you and they haven't got any way to contact you. Frasier was just talking about you the other day – Niles is in England right now, did you know that? No, of course you didn't …"

"I _do _know that, actually," Daphne cut in, glad to have found some way to catch Roz's attention. "I met him the other day."

"_No_," Roz gasped.

Daphne smiled. "Yeah, I did. And – Roz?"

"Yeah?"

"I kissed him."

Silence.

"Roz? Are you there?"

"No way." Her whisper was taut and shocked. "But isn't he over there with Mel?"

"Well, yes – funny you should mention that, actually. So, exactly how serious are things between them?"

There was a suspicious pause. "Well, pretty damn serious, Daphne. I mean, he's talked about asking her to marry him."

"H-he has?"

"Well, yeah. But … are you and he together now?"

Unexpected tears sprang to Daphne's eyes. "I dunno, Roz – I messed it up and now he's gone to talk to her, and if he chooses her it's all ruined, all my memories – just, soured, you know, oh God I should never have done this, what was I thinking …"

"Hey, Daph, it's alright." Suddenly Roz's voice was caring and compassionate instead of apprehensive and accusing – _Almost maternal_, Daphne thought. Maybe Roz-as-mother wasn't so strange after all.

"I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

"No, you're not. But hey, what if he chooses you? What if he wants you to come back with him?"

She swallowed. "I don't know. It's just – confusing. I mean, I thought I'd left you all behind – I know that sounds horrible, and I didn't mean to, mind, it just happened, I was negligent but it happened – but now there's not much left for me here, either, just a pushy mother and an ex named Clive and a dead-end career, all the things I was _escaping_ when I moved to America in the first place! So I just feel like I'm stuck in limbo right now – but then I met _him_, and it was almost like a sign, you know, but what if I rush things, what if I ruin it and I'm left with nothing …" The tears overtook her then.

"Alright, Daph. It's okay," Roz soothed quietly. "I guess all I can ask is – how do you feel about him?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible she'd never asked herself that question? "Well … strongly, I suppose," she ventured.

"Strongly enough to come home with him? Because you better not break his heart, Daphne. Not again." Her voice was kind, but firm. "Look, I assume he told you how he felt about you all those years, right?"

"Right," she replied faintly.

"Well, I was there to see the fallout, and believe me, it wasn't pretty. I mean, you left just as his miserable marriage crumbled, and suddenly, the two most important women in his life were gone – three if you count his mom's death a few years earlier – and suddenly, he didn't really care anymore. You know what he's like, all dependent and needy – I mean, it can be charming at times, but he's a full-grown man, for cryin' out loud …"

Daphne took a deep, shuddering breath. "Was he alright?"

"Well … after a while, yeah – but you hurt him bad, Daphne."

Her tone took on a defensive edge. "Look, I wasn't to know that he was in love with me."

"Are you sure about that, Daph?"

She didn't seem able to form a reply.

"Daph, I'm not trying to guilt you here. I'm just saying it took a long time to get him back from that, you know? And as much as I don't like that pushy pain in the ass he calls a girlfriend, she's the first shred of happiness he's had in a long, long time." She paused for breath. "So if he dumps Mel for you, I hope you can make it worth his while. He's had enough disastrous two-week relationships in the past three years to last a lifetime."

"And that's saying something, coming from you," Daphne teased, desperate to lighten the mood.

"Alright, alright," said Roz, accepting the jibe graciously. "I'm guessing he told you about me and him, huh?"

She paused carefully. "You and – _him_?"

Roz laughed nervously. "Yes, and the racehorse we bought together! That is one funny story. So, anyway –"

"Roz!" Daphne's voice was a mix of horror and bemusement. "What _about _you and him?"

Roz paused, the way Daphne knew she herself paused when people asked her how Clive was. "We had a fling," she admitted eventually, "o_kay_?"

"Okay," said Daphne in a small voice.

"You're not mad?"

"Not mad, just … well, a bit ticked off, maybe. I mean – you and _Niles_?"

Roz exhaled in a way that sounded like she'd wanted to expend that breath for a long time. "Look Daphne, it may shock you to learn that certain things have changed in three years. I mean, the fact that Alice was born – which you weren't even _aware_ of until recently –"

"But that's marvellous!" Daphne butted in joyously. "I couldn't believe it when I heard – I am so happy for you, Roz, really I …" Her chirpy monologue fizzled out as darker possibilities occurred to her. "Oh God, she's not Niles's, is she?"

"God, no. I know better than to bring another Crane into this world."

"Then that's wonderful!" Daphne's voice was once again laced with the sort of squealing elation she reserved for talk of weddings, promotions and babies. "I'm so proud of you Roz!"

"Erm, thank you," came the wavering reply, as though Roz were torn between wanting to preserve the sleepover atmosphere and wanting to scold Daphne again. "Thanks, Daph, yeah, it's wonderful, but … it's a little late to attend the baby shower, I'm afraid."

She felt humbled. "I know."

"Everything's changed, Daph. I've changed. Niles is a different guy today, and Frasier and Marty – well, not much change there, but that's not the point, is it? The point is you never bothered to find out."

Daphne opened her mouth to retort, but realised that there really was no defence. A knock sounded at the door, and she stiffened. Slowly sidled to the door, and glanced through the peephole to see a familiar – if magnified – nose.

"Daphne? You still there? Look, I don't mean to rag on you, but –"

"He's here." A deliciously uncomfortable feeling began diffusing its way from her torso up through to her brain. She flexed her hands instinctively, sensing pins and needles.

"Who?"

"Niles. He's right outside."

"Oh, okay. Alright, umm … best of luck, I guess. And even if it doesn't work out …"

"Yes?"

"Just call Frasier, will you?"

Daphne smiled. "I will. And Roz?"

"Yeah?"

"I really did miss you all."

With that, she hung up.


	6. Your Blue Room

**_Notes: _**I know I said this would be the final chapter, but there's one more after this. Angst ahoy!

**Part Six: Your Blue Room**

_The air is clean  
Your skin is clear  
I've had enough  
Of hanging round here  
It's a different kind of conversation  
In your blue room  
_**– U2**

Niles wandered the streets, being tossed between more purposeful pedestrians, hungry, thirsty and tired. He'd run after Mel, of course, but she'd been quickly absorbed into the crowd and lost to him. He'd dialled her cell phone, but unsurprisingly received no answer. He couldn't help but feel that he'd receive the standard Mel Karnofsky boyfriend debriefing: change the numbers, change the locks, mail any keepsakes to his office with a polite note attached. Disposing of relationships with the same efficiency and fastidiousness that she disposed of her surgical gloves at the hospital.

He briefly considered driving to the airport and intercepting her at the gate, but realised that sort of dramatic gambit only worked when you were sure of what you were going to say. Sure of what you felt.

He felt like grieving; maybe that was a start. He wanted to grieve the loss of Mel and the safety and confidence and care she lavished on him. Wanted to grieve the happy evenings spent at the opera and charity balls, relived the next morning in the society pages of the newspaper; grieve the majestic country house they'd talked about getting and the talented, refined children that would never exist. He had to mourn his perfect plan and the woman he thought would accompany him every step of the way.

Bur he could not stop thinking about Daphne.

She was _attracted _to him. _Dear God._ He'd known she cared about him, which was in one sense wonderful and in another sense devoid of meaning, since Daphne cared about everybody. But to be abruptly, gloriously accosted by her in a doorway – Niles was sure that wasn't the sort of treatment she metered out to just anyone.

But then, perhaps she was just on the rebound. After all, he knew nothing about her marriage or its demise, other than that she divorced a mere three months previously. And he – he'd spent enough money on his therapist's couch and enough nights in Roz's bed trying to get over Daphne – and more than enough time convincing himself that it was working. He'd done his utmost and in some ways, he'd moved on. _Would it really be healthy to fall back into old patterns?_

But he could not stop thinking about Daphne.

Almost unconsciously, but knowingly, too, he ended up at her building, in front of her door, rapping his knuckles urgently off the wood. He could hear her murmuring inside and the rattle of a phone being replaced in its cradle.

The door revealed her. By her expression he could tell she'd been expecting him. _God, she's exquisite._

"Hi," she said softly.

He swallowed. _Daphne Daphne Daphne …_

When he did not respond, she meekly enquired: "Are you okay?"

"Are you on the rebound?" he countered abruptly.

"I – I don't quite know," she said, caught off guard, stepping back to allow him to sidle nervously into the apartment.

"It's only been three months, hasn't it, since you, ah –"

"Yeah, that's right." Her brow furrowed. "I suppose, maybe – I mean, I wasn't really thinking along those lines, but –"

He sat on the arm of her couch and smiled at her sadly. "So that's that, then."

His strange behaviour had not escaped her and she approached slowly. "Niles, are you feeling alright?"

He bowed his head and gave a bitter little chuckle.

"Are you and Mel …" She reached out a hand as if to touch his face, but contented herself with his shoulder instead.

He shuddered a sigh. "She, uh, she's gone back. To Seattle. S'funny, you know – we were supposed to go home tomorrow anyway. Have the flights booked and everything. Two seats … just one of me …" He knew it was despicable, hinting like this, and yet …

She was standing over him now, a leg on either side of his knee, inches from touching him. "I guess I'm not the only one on the rebound then, eh?" she said softly.

Surely she knew she was the only one who could make this better for him. By coming home with him. By loving him.

"Daphne …"

"Hush, it's alright. I know what you're asking – I understand."

_You do?_

She was almost whispering. "We can – comfort each other, right?" And this time, she did cup his face.

His mind reeled. "Daphne, I –" He couldn't help the tear that squeezed from the corner of his eye. _How does your life change this much in forty-eight hours?_

"I'm so sorry." She sounded stricken. "Just tell me what you need, Niles, just tell me …"

He swallowed back the gulping breaths that threatened to take him over. Gently cleared his throat.

"Here's a thought," he said, and kissed her.

* * *

Daphne stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. A smile suddenly broke out on her reflection's face. _Well, that wasn't half bad_. She allowed her reflection a girlish giggle.

She sank down on the side of the bath, pulling her robe tighter around her. What could have been a dreadful mistake had turned out to be another wonderful Niles Crane memory to add to her treasure trove. There'd been the business with his suspenders, of course: that brief interruption when they'd had to pause and confer on the best method of removing them – _What kind of man wears braces, anyway? _– but apart from that …

_Perhaps I owe Roz a thank-you card._

Still, she was procrastinating, and she knew it. It was quite unfair, she decided – he'd said he was leaving the next day, and here she was, unable to fully relax because she was still grappling with the newness of it all. Part of her was terrified of what lay on the other side of the bathroom door: the still-jarring sight of Niles Crane lying dishevelled and naked on her bed, not a psychiatrist or a pianist or a squash player or a confidante anymore, but a _man_ – and a surprisingly hairy man, at that. Those eyes, so vulnerable they were almost accusing, screaming at her the question that only good manners prevented him from voicing – _Was it good for you too?_

She knew she should put his mind at rest, but this was new to her. She'd never been the strong one in the relationship before. Had never been with someone so sensitive or insecure. Never felt so protective.

Loosening the sash on her robe, she stepped out into bedroom, feeling his eyes on her. She slid under the covers and slipped her arms around his curled-up body. His skin – so soft and blemish free. _Those seaweed wraps and goat placenta creams and whatnot must be good for something … _

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against her forehead.

"Oh, just what a big bloody girl you are."

"Ah," he sighed, as if she'd just confirmed his worst fears. She chuckled; whispered something in his ear. He relaxed visibly, and began to solemnly stroke her hair.

She drifted a little. What was she to think of him now, Niles Crane? As a friend? As a lover? But the way he was holding her just now – did it even matter?

* * *

He lay there, barely daring to breathe, his arms full of Daphne. Even with all of his cultured aesthetic sensibilities, he couldn't find words to describe the feeling. _Sensory overload, perhaps, to borrow a well-worn phrase …_

After a while, she began to talk quietly, unprompted. "It was strange – no infidelities or screaming matches or anything like that. The end … wasn't very interesting."

He nodded to show he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"It ended with more of a whimper than a bang, you see. What happened was, six months after the wedding, I had this uneasy feeling I just couldn't shake."

"One of your psychic flashes?" he said expectantly.

She smiled at him. "No – unhappiness. After all that time, we just weren't good together, no matter how much we tried to convince ourselves. I wonder if we ever were ...

"We met in our early twenties, you know – we had the same life back then, the same expectations. Maybe if I'd stayed in Manchester it could have worked … but no." She smiled ruefully. "Bottom line was, we just didn't _get _each other. Sometimes it seemed we had nothing to say." A pause. "I'm sorry I never wrote."

"It's alright," he said. He sounded sleepy. "I do understand."

"I knew you would," she said, squeezing him a little tighter.

"In a way, I was half-relieved."

She raised her head to shoot him a quizzical look.

He continued: "Sometimes I worried you'd write, but only to Frasier and Dad. You know, a 'PS Tell Dr Crane I said hello' kind of situation." He frowned. "It's selfish, I know, but – at least you treated us all the same. I was so afraid you viewed me as … the spare."

"Oh, I never viewed you that way."

"So what _did _you think of me?"

She said nothing, just smiled enigmatically and planted a kiss on the nearest available surface – his shoulder. He wanted to scream. How dare she be coy and flirtatious when he needed concrete answers! _Do you feel the same way I do? _He ached to ask her, but feared to pressure her.

He could stay, of course, but for how long could he abandon his patients while he waited for Daphne to decide if she wanted him or not? How was he to know if this amounted to anything other than a holiday romance for her?

He couldn't purge the feeling that he'd be on that plane tomorrow, with or without her. Because that would be the safe, planned, responsible, risk-free option. That was who he was.

It was only when she'd drifted off to sleep that he felt safe enough to murmur in her ear what he'd needed to say all day.

"_Love you ..._"

In the morning, her side of the bed was empty.


	7. Your House

**_Notes: _**Still not the ending. ;) Soon! Promise!

**Part Seven: Your House**

_Would you forgive me, love_

_If I dance in your shower_

_Would you forgive me, love_

_If I laid in your bed_

_Would you forgive me, love_

_If I stay all afternoon_

**- Alanis Morissette**

Daphne found herself back on the edge of the bath, the soles of her feet making a pleasing clapping sound as she tapped them nervously off the cold tiled floor. Having a man-who-wasn't-Clive wake up next to her wasn't something she felt ready to experience just yet; no, not even with _him_ …

She swept her fingers through her tangled, damp hair, glancing at the mirror. The en suite bathroom had become her haven at various intervals during this encounter; somewhere she could retreat to gather her thoughts with an appropriate excuse: "I'll just nip to the loo for a bit"/"Do you mind if I freshen up?"/"We need more prophylactics" …

_So, he loves me._

She breathed a sad sigh. She'd suspected as much, of course, and knew also that he was afraid to tell her. He'd told her when she was merely resting her eyes, a state he mistook for deep sleep; was there any greater proof that he was telling the truth?

She wondered briefly if she should tell him she had heard his declaration, but quickly decided against it when she realised that he would then naturally ask her how _she _felt. She'd been neatly avoiding that query all night, whether the question was on his lips or in his eyes, because she couldn't quite find the words.

True, she knew that there was a place in her heart that belonged only to him, that nobody else could ever touch – but then, she'd known that all along, since the first time she'd visited his home one stormy night. Earlier, she'd wondered fleetingly if sleeping with him might help clarify the issue, but now realised that the afterglow of sex just clouded her judgement. Was it just lust? Or perhaps it was lust and friendship; two lines running parallel, but never quite meeting.

She needed more time, she realised. More time and space to think. He'd hinted that she could come back to Seattle with him; an appealing offer, but she wasn't yet quite ready for the whole cavalcade of Cranes – it had been difficult enough just explaining herself to Niles, and she had a feeling he'd be the most forgiving of the three …

Would it be presumptuous to ask him to stay?

She heard him faintly calling her name, and stuck her head around the door to meet his eyes and watch the panic fade.

"You're still here," he observed in wonder.

"I live here."

"That's true." He sat up, grinning at her, as the tangled sheets pooled around him.

Inspiration struck. "Niles?" she asked politely. "Would you like to take a shower?"

The grin faded as he paused, seemingly to process that suggestion, before leaping up and dashing past her into the bathroom, reaching into the shower to fiddle with the controls. She smiled at him as she shed her dressing gown and brushed past him to step into the cubicle. He looked at his feet.

"Maybe we should wait a while," he mumbled nervously as he fluttered his hand back and forth beneath the spray from the shower head. "Until the water heats up properly, and there's, um, a steady flow, and –"

The rest of his sentence was muffled as Daphne abruptly pulled him to her, the icy jets pummelling their shoulders and faces, sensitising her as they shared a fervent kiss. As they pressed against the tiled wall, she prayed that her brain might soon catch up with her heart, and rationalise this feeling.

* * *

Though there was enough room for at least eight people in the hot tub at Shady Glen, Niles and Roz were having a difficult time sharing it.

After a great deal of shouting and an incident in which Niles's imported bath salts had gone hurtling out of the window at an alarming speed, Niles remained perfectly still, while Roz moved as far away from him as the tub would allow. They stared at each other like boxers in opposite corners between rounds.

He decided to go first. "Look, Roz, I'm sorry …"

She slumped tiredly against the tub's edge. "No, _I'm _sorry."

His heart leapt. "Really? You won't see him, then?"

"Not about that, about the bath salts. I know they were from someplace in Scandinavia."

"Oh." He endeavoured to hide his disappointment.

"I'm not sorry about what I said," she told him firmly. "Don't even _try_ to tell me what I can or cannot do. Now, I'd like to keep seeing you, but don't think I wouldn't end things if I thought you couldn't handle it."

"Handle _what_?" he asked, leaning towards her in what he hoped was a seductive manner.

She ducked out of his way. She meant business, it seemed. "_You _know – a friends with benefits deal, or as you'd say, an 'open relationship'." The inverted commas were clearly audible.

He splashed at the water with his fist in frustration. "For the last time, I tell you I have no problem with an open relationship!"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"… Just as long as you don't have sex with anyone but me," he added sheepishly.

She sighed. "Niles, you know as well as I do that we're all wrong for each other. But we agreed – we can have fun together in between looking for the _right _people. You know, people we could actually _be _with," she finished brightly.

He frowned, not entirely sure of how to put this. "But who's to say _we _couldn't – _you _know –"

"Be together?" She laughed hysterically, then quietened abruptly when she saw the look on his face. "Um. Niles, maybe it's been a while since you were in a healthy relationship, but when insults are a form of foreplay, it's not meant to be. Just as a general rule."

She smiled at him; he was unresponsive.

She punched his wet arm. "Look, I'm just meeting an old boyfriend for coffee to see how he's doing. That's all! Innocent coffee."

"Oh come on, Roz. Innocent coffee? Even sunshine and daisies seem tawdry once you're involved."

Her mouth set in a hard line. "Fine. Be a jerk about it."

"Thank you, I believe I shall."

Without another word, she clambered out of the tub, not even pausing to dry herself before donning a robe and storming out.

"Roz …" He hastily threw on his own robe and slippers, trying not to think about what Roz's wet footprints would do to his hardwood flooring. He followed her to the living area. "Roz, please. I'm sorry, I'm ruining our weekend. Can we –" He stopped, puzzled. "What are you doing?"

"Making up the couch," she mumbled, huffily arranging cushions and throws.

His eyebrow arched, seemingly of its own accord. "I understand if you don't want to spend the night with me, but there _are _spare bedrooms, you know."

She paused, embarrassed, as if trying to decide whether to forge ahead or to give in gracefully. "Right. It's just, um, that's the classic break-up line: 'I'm spending the night on the couch.' Force of habit."

"Woah, woah, woah," he bounded over to sit next to her. "You're _breaking up _with me?"

She set her jaw and actually had the temerity, Niles noticed, to shrug philosophically. "Well, it's probably for the best. I don't want to have this fight with you every time I want to date someone, and this may shock you, but I don't really want to mess about with your feelings, either."

He laughed, a little too nervously. "Okay, okay, I take it all back. You're absolutely right, you can see whoever you want, but, God – don't leave _now._" He reached for her, but she caught his wrists before he could grasp her face and drag her into a kiss.

"I've been thinking about this – ending things – for a while," she confessed quietly. "I wasn't sure but … I am now." She returned his hands to him.

"But – Roz …" He was genuinely at a loss. Why go to the trouble of finding a babysitter, of driving up with him to his cabin for the weekend, if she was going to break up with him anyway? Why now, when he was finally free of Maris?

She countered him with forced buoyancy. "Niles, I'm only being true to the spirit of our arrangement! I mean, do you remember how all this started, that first night? Back then it was casual, no strings, a once-off thing."

"Technically, if I recall, it was a twice-off thing."

She glared at him. "Fine. A one-_nighter_, then. It was supposed to be a one-nighter and then it spiralled madly out of control."

"What flattering terms," he said sardonically. "If you've been horribly scarred by the whole experience, just say so. I'll refer you to a colleague. Really, it's no problem." He sat back on the couch, resigned, staring ahead of him into the fire.

"Don't be like that," she admonished, reaching out to clasp his hand. "One day you'll thank me for knowing when to give up on this."

He shook his head. "My God, how do you _do_ that? How can you just walk away like _that_?" He snapped his fingers in emphasis.

She shrugged. "Because I can," she said, barely staying on the right side of callous. "This isn't making either of us particularly happy anymore. If you're too short-sighted to end it, then I will."

"But – but –" He fumbled his words. "But the sex is –"

"– Not enough, no matter how good you think it is."

Niles stopped cold. He stood up. "Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Roz?" he demanded.

Roz stood up to face him, anger creeping into her tone just a little. "I'm moving on, Niles. I'm growing up. That alright with you?"

"Don't you dare patronise me with this phoney onwards and upwards crap," he hissed. "Don't try to pretend this is anything other than your abject terror of commitment."

"Blah, blah, blah. Like _I'm _the one with issues here. You're the one who can't stand to be alone. Heal yourself, physicist, or however the hell it goes."

"That's 'physician', thank you."

"Sorry, 'physician.' Oh, you see? That must mean I'm forgetting you already. Yup, this moving on thing sure feels good."

"Ah yes, and moving on to your ex's divorce lawyer, too. It sure bears the Roz Doyle hallmark of class."

Their faces were very close now, so Niles actually saw the moment when tears sprang into Roz's eyes. They were hot, angry tears, and her face flushed. He was thrown for a moment, but quickly recovered. He could not bring himself to end this prematurely by putting comforting arms around her: he was far too aroused for that.

"Fuck you, Niles!" she bellowed. "This is best relationship I ever had we're talking about! The guy I let get away, and you trying to keep me from having a damn cup of _coffee_ with him!"

"Like it'll stop there," he sneered.

"And so what if it doesn't?" she said, and there was blunted steel in her voice. "Don't try to kid yourself that you wouldn't kick me to the kerb if Daphne ever showed up and so much as glanced at your scrawny a–"

"Get out." He said it softly, yet harshly, and he could tell by her lack of response that she knew she'd gone too far. She retreated noiselessly. He stared at the floor, glancing upwards just in time to see her tiptoe up the last of the stairs, and take the room on the left.

After a short bout of pacing in front of the fireplace, he too went upstairs and turned right into the master bedroom. He pulled on his pyjamas but otherwise abandoned his extensive night time grooming regimen. Things felt so very surreal that nothing short of a spa day would bring him back to full consciousness.

It was only after lying awake on his back for an hour that he arrived at the conclusion that it shouldn't end this way. Not with all that animosity between them. He was never going to be able to sleep on his own anyway.

He padded across the hallway and opened her door. Her face could have been anywhere in the blackness.

"Roz?"

A sleepy "Hmmph?" He could make her out now, in the corner, struggling to sit up.

"Could I – look, I'm just going to come in, alright?"

Her eyes must have been rolling. "_O-_kay." Still, she still pulled down the covers, as good as an invitation.

He crossed the room and lay beside her, placing a hand on the small of her back, his eyes level with her collar bone. Her arms went around him carelessly.

After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "So … why are you here?" She sounded genuinely curious.

"Just go back to sleep," he growled sleepily.

She sighed. "Whatever."

A few minutes passed. Then: "Roz?"

"Mmmph?"

He swallowed. "I – I'm sorry for everything I said before."

"Me too," she said, sounding bored.

"No, don't apologise."

"What?"

"You were right in what you said about me. I needed to hear it."

"You mean all that stuff about your neediness and pathetic loneliness?"

She said it so matter-of-factly he grinned despite himself. "Yes. That. Very astute of you, Roz. I'm a sad, sad sack."

She scratched the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe it takes one to know one," she whispered.

They spent the night in each other's arms.

And Roz spent the following night in Donny's.

* * *

"Could you pass the milk, please?" Daphne asked. In truth she didn't really want milk, but the silence over the breakfast table was so long she felt she had to divide it up, if only with inane politeness.

Niles's near-constant smile widened. He stood up in his rumpled shirt and pants, his hair still damp from the shower, and leaned over the table. The milk was actually closer to her than it was to him, Daphne noted ruefully, mentally slapping herself. Why was he so much more comfortable with the silence than she was?

He picked up the milk jug and deposited it at her end of the table, standing over her.

"Thanks."

"You can have sugar, too, if you like."

"Actually I'm all out of sugar at the moment, but if you – mmmph." He was kissing her. She wondered how she hadn't seen that one coming.

She swatted at him as she pulled away, which at least broke the tension somewhat. "That was an awful joke," she said, laughing.

"Thank you, I'm here all week," he quipped, sitting back down. His brow twitched as he reviewed what he'd just said. "Well … not really …"

And here was the very thing she wanted to discuss with him.

"You know, Niles," she began, just as he echoed her with: "You know, Daphne …"

Their eyes met. Smiled. Looked down again nervously.

"You go," he murmured.

"Right." She cleared her throat. "Umm, anyway. I know your flight is going back today, but I was wondering if you'd – like to stay." She looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. "At least for a few days," she added hastily, standing up to clear the breakfast things. "Just think about it."

She put the dishes in the sink. He still hadn't spoken.

"Look, just forget I said anything," she blurted, suddenly irritated.

He stuttered almost violently. "Uh, uh, sorry Daphne – I mean, that sounds wonderful. But the thing is, _I _was gonna ask _you _to come to Seattle." He attempted a laugh. "I do have a ticket going a-begging, after all."

Her heart leapt. She realised that on some level, she'd been waiting for this all weekend. She ached at the thought of him going home without her, and yet, there was also something not right about her accompanying him to Seattle. _Coming to London with one woman and leaving with another –_

"You're not giving me very much time to pack, you know," she said wryly. "Your flight leaves in a couple of hours."

"Does that mean you'll come?" He was beaming.

"I'm not sure I can," she said carefully. "I mean, for how long?"

"As long as you like!"

"I'm not sure I can afford it …"

"I'll take care of everything, of _course_."

"My apartment," she said, gesturing around. "The rent."

"I'm sure you could ask Billy to handle all that for you."

"Billy would probably move in." They giggled. Yet there was still something niggling at her. "But Niles … I'm worried about seeing your brother and father again, and Roz and everyone else. I'm not sure they'd appreciate me just showing up out of the blue." _And I've worked so hard at not missing them._

He approached her. "Daphne, you _know _they'd love to see you. They miss you like crazy, and they'd understand, as I do."

Deep down, she knew he was right. They were not the sort of people to hold grudges. _Not for long, anyhow, _she thought, remembering a rift between the doctors Crane over one of their ridiculous joint ventures years ago. _"I do not have a brother, I am an only child!"_

And she missed them madly, too. But something felt wrong.

"I have to go," she told him urgently. "I'm late for … a job interview." _Where did that come from?_ No matter – she needed space. She grabbed her bag and coat from the hook.

"Daphne …"

"Look, I'm sorry Niles, but I – I can't just be _uprooted _like this, drop everything and head off across the bloody Atlantic Ocean at the drop of a bloody _hat_! Can't you see that?"

"You did it once before." His voice was cold; it wavered.

"And we all know how _that _worked out, don't we." She mimicked his tone.

Horror crossed his face and he moved unthinkingly to her, immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I should never have said that … I'm so sorry."

She sighed, allowing herself to be enfolded in his arms. "It's alright."

He kissed her hair. "I know this is fast, but it's just … I need you with me."

She nodded into his shoulder.

He tightened his grip. "God, I love you so much."

She froze. He said it so casually, like he'd been saying it for years. _And maybe he has been …_ But now he was looking in her eyes, awaiting a response, and she had never felt so claustrophobic in her life.

"I have to go," she muttered. "I'll be late."

He looked crushed. She could hardly stand it. "Daphne …"

"I'll see you later." She clicked the door shut behind her and dashed down the hallway, ostensibly on her way to a job interview that didn't exist. She would, without question, rather be on her way to Seattle.

But she wasn't yet sure if this was because she loved Niles, or because she loved Niles's family._ How_, she thought, _do you even separate the two?_

_To be continued …some more ..._


	8. Your Eyes Open

**_Notes: _**Well, here's the last part. Eventually. As you might notice, it's a bit of a departure from the previous parts, but it was the only way I could think to wrap the darned thing up. ;) It's also the longest part by far – over 5000 words – for which I apologise.

Thanks to everyone for reading and for all your shiny comments. Hope you enjoy.

**Part Eight: Your Eyes Open**

_For a moment your eyes open and you know  
All the things I ever wanted you to know  
I don't know you, and I don't want to  
Till the moment your eyes open and you know_

**- Keane**

Frasier was feeling pensive. He had a sense of foreboding about _something_ – what, he wasn't sure. He was looking forward to Niles's return later that night, however – they hadn't spoken in several days, Frasier having obeyed his brother's request to be left in peace to enjoy his romantic getaway with Mel.

_Ah yes, Mel._ Frasier's vague sense of agitation had only increased when he'd stopped at the Café Nervosa for a pre-broadcast latte, only to spy someone he _thought _was Mel slip out the door while he was at the counter. Of course, he hadn't seen her face, but it was her bobbed haircut, her figure, her gait … _But surely she's still in England …_

"Hey Winslowe."

Frasier grimaced as Roz entered her booth, beaming at him through the glass. Her new moniker for him was an unfortunate side effect of an office dispute last week, in which he'd pompously concluded some threat or other with the ill-fated words: "Or my name's not Frasier Winslowe Crane!" This had quite the opposite to the desired effect on Roz, who'd tossed her head back and laughed, loud and long, at this nugget of information.

"Winslowe?" she'd finally repeated in her mirth.

"Another of mom's lab rats," he'd conceded sheepishly.

He remembered the first time he'd heard his middle name. His mother had told him on his first, nervous morning of kindergarten: "Now, I want you to introduce yourself to your teacher like a gentleman. Tell her your name's Frasier Winslowe Crane and hold out your hand for her to shake." It had been shocking and strangely exciting to discover that he had a second name, and he tried it out incessantly on the way to school, irritating his father no end. It fascinated him that he had this whole other identity he knew nothing about. "Like a superhero," he'd explained to his dad, who'd seemed pleased with the analogy; that is until he'd added: "Or like Ganymede in _As You Like It_."

"I got an interesting phone call yesterday," Roz was saying.

"Oh, one of your long-lost paramours?" He was only half-listening. The truth was, he mused, that he'd never been one for secret identities or split personalities. No, he was straightforward and direct – never could keep anything under wraps for very long. Had he superpowers, the whole of Seattle would know it before he'd even time to rescue his first cat from the tip of the Space Needle.

"You'll never believe who it was," Roz continued.

"Hmm?" _Quite unlike Niles, _Frasier thought. His brother had so many layers and sides to him that Frasier wasn't sure that Niles himself was even aware of them all. It was a by-product of his marriage to Maris, Frasier decided – too many years spent tossing about air-kisses like confetti, trying to ingratiate himself with everyone …

_Too long trying to hide from his wife his love for another woman?_

Roz rapped the glass sharply. "Hey Frasier! Did you hear what I said? I said Daphne called me!"

Frasier inhaled so sharply his head felt light. "Daphne Moo- er, Roddy!"

"_Yes_, Daphne Moon!" barked Roz, sounding thoroughly annoyed at his lack of attention. "She just got divorced! And she says she kissed your brother!"

Frasier simply let his jaw dangle.

"Five seconds, Frasier."

He stood up suddenly. "Roz, I have to go make a call," he said urgently, all vows to Niles forgotten. "He's making a terrible blunder! They both are! I _knew _it was a mistake to stay out of his affairs!"

"You're on, Frasier!" she reminded him, making frantic hand motions.

Despite his sudden rush of blood to the head, his broadcaster's instincts kicked in and he lowered his head to the microphone. "Hellooo, Seattle," he intoned. "We delay today's show for a public service announcement about the benefits of _flossing._"

"But Dr Crane, we have John on line one who's sick and tired of being taken for granted."

"Oh Roz, I'm sure he doesn't mind waiting for another ten minutes," he scoffed. Then he yanked off his headphones and stormed from the booth, leaving Roz to fumble with the appropriate cart.

He strode to the hallway, punching Niles's speed dial on his phone. It rang only twice before his brother answered.

"Hello?" he croaked.

"Niles! I have just received some highly disturbing intelligence from _Roz_, of all people, that – well – that …"

"Yes, Frasier?" Niles sounded weary.

Frasier exhaled with annoyance. "Oh, for heaven's sakes Niles! You know perfectly well why I'm calling. You – God, I _knew _that was Mel I saw this morning!"

"You saw Mel?" Niles asked, and Frasier could hear the ache in his voice. "How … was she?"

"I only glimpsed her, I've no idea. But … you and Daphne, Niles?" Frasier couldn't help his smile. "You found Daphne?"

"Erm – yes." Niles's voice was squeaky with surprise. "You know about that?"

"Yes, Roz said Daphne called her and – something about a kiss?" Frasier was done chewing his brother out. His head thrummed with every new nugget of information.

Niles sighed. "More than a kiss," he breathed. "More … God, I messed up, Frasier. We spent the night together …"

Frasier almost dropped his phone.

"… And everything was going so well, and then I had to go and pressurise her and profess my love and then …" He broke off, seemingly overcome.

"Yes, Niles?" Frasier said as gently as he could.

Niles swallowed loudly. "She left, abruptly. I have to be at the airport in an hour – she _knows _this, Frasier – and she's gone for a job interview, of all things." He laughed bitterly. "Guess she won't be joining me in Seattle after all."

Frasier's eyebrows rose. "You asked her to come back with you?"

That horrible laugh again. "Why not? Mel's gone. Daphne's doing, might I add." He sniffed. "God I love her."

Frasier didn't have to ask which woman he meant. He forced himself into therapist mode. "Now Niles. I know how much it must have hurt you, for her to just walk out like that, but that was just her way of asking for space."

"Couldn't she just have said 'I need space'?"

Frasier sighed. "Well, yes. But either way, you need to respect her wishes, Niles. You need to catch your flight, little brother."

"_What_?" Niles sounded outraged. "Are you _insane_? I … can't put that much distance between us, Frasier. It's too scary. Now that I've found her I can't just_ leave_. Who knows when I'll see her again? When I think of the opportunities I missed … this is my second chance, Frasier, I'm not letting it slip away!"

Frasier remained firm. "Listen to me. As you said, she knows what time you're leaving. You're at her house now, I presume?" Niles murmured in the affirmative. "Well, if she wants to see you, she knows when and where to find you. If she _doesn't _show up, however … well, _that_ is her way of asking for _time_, and you cannot loiter a minute longer. You cannot cause her grief, Niles, not in her own home."

"But … that's not fair!"

"Perhaps not. But it is the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I'm owed an explanation," Niles said, in a tone too forceful for his nature.

"Why?"

"Because of Mel! Because of everything that we – that we –"

"Niles," Frasier interjected gently. "Did Daphne _promise_ you anything?"

There was a long silence. "I hate being a gentleman," he mumbled.

Frasier sighed in relief. "You're doing the right thing, Niles. You're both terribly vulnerable right now. You might not realise this now, but _you _need breathing space too."

"I just want Daphne." His voice was calm.

"And you may still have her! If there's something really there, you two can work this out long term, talk on the phone – make visits! For God's sakes don't ruin this by getting caught up in the heat of passion!" Niles started to object, but Frasier spoke over him and delivered his trump card. "_Then_ maybe the two of you won't fall into the same trap as Daphne and Clive."

For a moment, Frasier thought the line had gone dead. Then Niles heaved a sigh. "You're right, Frasier."

Frasier felt mild shock at these rare words. _Dear God, he really is suffering. _"Are you going to be alright?"

But Niles had already hung up.

Gingerly, Frasier made his way back to the booth. He felt dazed.

"Play _The Best of Crane_, Roz. I am _done _for the day."

* * *

Martin's spine arched slightly as Lisbeth dug her fingers into the small of his back.

"Oww!" he exclaimed. "Alright, I think that's enough 'soothing' back rubs for today. I kept my side of the bargain; now fetch my beer."

"Oh, we're all out," she said airily. "Been thinkin' about starting that new juice diet, though. You're welcome to join me in some cran-raspberry if you like."

"You said there was beer!" he said beseechingly.

"I lied. Me and Roz finished it off the other night – I'm so sorry."

Martin's voice was pure steel. "_What_?"

"Again, I'm sorry."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I'd better wait to have you in a compromising position before breaking the news," she said deviously, pressing her fingers into his back again.

"OWW! Alright, devil woman, you're forgiven. Just as long as I don't have to drink any of that juice crap, I hear it gives you the runs."

"Super," she chirped happily, helping him down from the table.

Martin frowned. Lisbeth had doing his physical therapy for three years – almost as long as Daphne had – but even though he liked her a lot, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation. Maybe it was her taste for his particular brand of beer. Or maybe, he reflected, it was because there was once a time when he could fool himself that his younger son popped over on occasion to see his old dad; but the visits dried up soon after Daphne left, bringing home to Marty that whatever connection he had with Niles was tenuous at best, and making him feel like he'd lost two kids instead of one.

_Nah_, he thought as he spied Lisbeth in the kitchen, throwing berries into the juicer. _It's mostly the beer thing._

"Hey Dad." Frasier greeted him, coming in the door and tossing his keys on the sideboard.

"Hey Fras." Martin observed his son. He was brandishing a piece of white paper in his hand, and he had his smug face on. "Lemme guess. Hot date?"

"Not quite," said Frasier, his mood buoyant. "You will scarcely believe the tale which I am about to unfold." He paused in front of Martin's Barcalounger. "It all begins several days ago, when my brother and your son left the airport bound for England for the purposes of – hey!"

Martin, bored, snatched the piece of paper out of Frasier's hand. It bore a phone number and a name.

_Daphne._

Martin's eyes widened. "How did you …?"

"Roz," confirmed Frasier sheepishly. "Daphne called her yesterday."

"And what's this got to do with Niles?"

"I spoke to him on the phone," said Frasier quietly. "It seems … that he and Daphne ran into each other in London. She's divorced now."

"And!"

"They were … intimate."

"Oh my God."

"Yes," said Frasier, businesslike once more. "It seems Niles rather jumped the gun, though, and told her the full depth of his feelings. She said nothing and left. I told him the best thing would be to catch his flight back to Seattle today as planned."

Martin gripped his cane a little tighter. "You what?"

Frasier shrugged. "She made it perfectly clear that –"

"Oh, bull!" scoffed Martin. "This is nothing to do with Daphne and Niles or what happened or what's best for them; this is to do with _you _trying to interfere in your brother's life again. Where do you get off telling him what to do?"

"Look, I just thought –"

"I mean, the poor kid's gotten all he's wanted for the past seven years, it's gotta be overwhelming! For _both _of them! They need to sort this out on their own, Frasier. Jeez …" He broke off momentarily, staring at Frasier, who didn't look put out in the slightest. "I'll repeat myself. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Putting this family back together," Frasier said primly. "In other words, the right thing." He picked up the phone and held it towards Martin. "Now, it's your turn."

* * *

Niles sat at Daphne's kitchen table, listening to the loud _tock _of the wall clock and staring at the refrigerator. Magnets held several childish drawings in place – dragons, picnics, pirates. _Probably made by her nieces and nephews, _Niles surmised. Nothing so real or so informal had ever adorned any part of the Montana. He wondered if it ever would.

He glanced at the clock. Another five minutes, and he would really have to go.

And still she wasn't here.

He briefly considered the notepad and pen on the counter. Was a maudlin note in order? He'd written quite a few in his time; love letters to Mel, notes of apology to Maris. But right now, it didn't feel appropriate. Right now he knew that no sequence of words could begin to make sense of the ache in his chest.

_She hasn't even come to say goodbye …_

And somehow, he found himself unable to write the words 'I love you' without imagining her cringe as she read them.

His decision made, he stood stiffly, carefully placing one of the plane tickets on the counter. He'd take a cab back to the hotel, pack up, check out, and be on his way. _It's the gentlemanly thing to do_, he repeated to himself like a mantra.

His throat tightened as he swallowed back sobs. There was no need, he knew – he could break down right here in Daphne's kitchen, and nobody would be the wiser. He could get it out of him right now and leave the building with a shred of closure. But holding back tears had been an integral part of his life since prep school and now it was more of a reflex than anything. Crying was a luxury for those with more energy and more people to comfort them.

He'd be alright, though, somehow. Memory and fantasy had always sustained him, ever since childhood. It was at once the advantage of a large intellect, and the curse.

As he gently closed the door behind him, he contemplated what he had, in effect, achieved in the last few days: a lifetime with Mel traded in for a single day with Daphne.

But he knew, in his heart, that it was worth it.

* * *

Daphne wondered why she'd ended up at the gardening centre, of all places. It was somewhere she'd often passed without noticing it; but today, as she'd dashed down streets where she knew Niles could never follow, it had seemed the perfect refuge.

The humid air in the greenhouse was thick with the scent of artificial growth. Bees hovered uncertainly between plants, as though they couldn't quite believe their luck. Daphne drifted between rows of bright geraniums, rose bushes and riotous pansies, somehow ending up in the cactus aisle. She put her thumb to a particularly prickly one, and pushed down on the point until it drew a perfect bubble of blood.

Strange, she thought vaguely, how she'd never noticed how many kinds of cactus there were. Some looked like miniature versions of the spiky, branched ones in spaghetti westerns. Others were smoother, with soft needles like a nettle's. Some were green and lush. She examined them, all so different, yet somehow all in the cactus family. _What's the deciding factor_, she found herself wondering, _that turns some into beautiful plants, and makes others prick your fingers?_

Her mind turned to Niles. _He had to show up, didn't he_, she thought, almost bitterly. Had to come along at an intersection in her life and make her change her whole way of thinking about that ambiguous line between friendship and courtship. Had to make her act in all kinds of atypical ways, like turning to goo during dinner with an old friend, or leaping on a man who was already taken, or running away from an emotional conversation.

What was it, she wondered, that had frightened her so much this morning? It wasn't the pronouncement of love itself – though momentous, she'd had time since the night before to adjust to the knowledge. Neither was it Niles's invitation to Seattle – she badly wanted to see Frasier, Martin and Roz again, even if only for a brief visit.

With a start, she realised that she had ran away because it was the first time all weekend that she had not been in control. She'd been going with the flow, taking the lead, accepting the weekend for what it was and never thinking to look beyond it. That Niles was now putting difficult questions before her – including the never easily-answered 'What do you want?' – confused and disorientated her. She glanced wildly around, through the greenhouse panes, at the London skyline. Wasn't this _her _patch?

It terrified her that Niles was a whole, real person, with needs and wants and emotions, some of which might sometimes clash with her own. It unsettled her that she had the power to hurt him, and he her. He differed so much from the restrained, obliging Niles she remembered; the Dr Crane she carried around in her head.

She shook her head as if to rid herself of these thoughts. None of this, she reasoned, was his fault. Of _course _he was a real person; of course he had a right to tell her how he felt, and receive an honest, respectful response – even if it was one he didn't want to hear. And she had just left him abruptly with that terrible, anguished look on his face. She frowned. An apology was in order. An apology, and perhaps a hug.

She bustled out of the greenhouse, heading for home. But even as she checked the time on her watch as she hailed a cab, she realised she could be too late.

* * *

Martin shook his head. "Son, this is a crazy idea."

"It's not crazy. It is deceptively simple," said Frasier, handing his father the phone.

"Oh, it's _simple_ alright. What'm I supposed to say?"

"Don't you worry about that. I shall come up with a suitable ruse that should have the desired effect."

"Well, since you got this whole thing planned out, why can't _you _do it?"

Frasier looked uncomfortable. "Because … your folksy vernacular and hamfisted yet well-meaning attempts to help might somehow work better here than a psychiatrist's expertise," he said reluctantly.

"Wow, you really know how to butter me up, don't you," Martin said sarcastically. "Look Frasier, I'm just not comfortable interfering like this."

Frasier gave him a hard look. "I don't see you putting down the phone," he pointed out.

* * *

Daphne dashed up her stairwell, skidding to a halt at her door, stabbing her key at the lock. _Why, _she wondered, _does the keyhole move when you're drunk or in a rush? _Eventually the key slid home and she wrenched open the door.

"Niles?"

She knew without searching that she was the only one home.

Dazed, she sat down carefully in her armchair, covering her face. As guilt swelled up inside her, she bit down on the heel of her hand to stifle her sobs. She was unsure who to blame for this feeling – herself, Niles, or both. And then it occurred to her that Niles probably thought he was doing the right thing by leaving; that he would most likely have assumed she wanted nothing to do with him.

"Bloody twit!" she exclaimed to the empty room, half in frustration, half in affection. "How could you think that …"

As if in answer, the phone started ringing, startling her. Her heart raced as she picked up the receiver. Could it be –

"Hello?"

There was a few moments silence on the other end. Then: "Hullo Daphne."

She'd have recognised that rasp anywhere. "Mr Crane," she said breathlessly.

He laughed gratingly – more from nervousness than anything, she supposed. "I figured you'd sound more surprised."

"And I figured Roz has caller ID," she replied wryly.

"Right." He laughed, more genuinely this time. "So."

"So." There was a horribly awkward moment. "It's … it's good to hear your voice, Mr Crane. How – how've you been?"

Martin cleared his throat. "Yeah – look Daphne, I really didn't call to catch up or make small talk."

"Oh," she said softly. She felt a lot more hurt than she knew she had a right to.

"I mean, don't take this wrong," he added hastily, "it's just I'm calling with an agenda, and I feel bad about it, so I'm just gonna tell you. It's about Niles."

She swallowed. _But of course it is. _"Niles?"

"Yeah, Niles – shut up, Fras, the ruse was stupid!" Daphne heard muffled sounds of protest in the background. "So, anyway, Daph –"

"What do you know about me and Niles?" she asked quietly, suddenly feeling defensive. She knew the Cranes shared everything, but somehow she'd thought that being a whole ocean away would afford her and Niles some modicum of privacy.

"Just that you two were … um …" He fumbled for an appropriate euphemism –"_Together,_ and that when Frasier spoke to him this morning, he sounded pretty beat up."

Daphne felt a surge of guilt mixed with anger mixed with sorrow – her own tears were not quite dried, either. "How do you know I'm not pretty beat up myself? I wanted him to stay here. I wanted – to figure things out, with just the two of us, alone."

Martin sounded genuinely stupefied. "Then why didn't he stay, the chump!"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. Strange that as soon as someone else articulated what she herself had been thinking about Niles, she suddenly felt the need to defend him. "Well, I guess there was … a communications breakdown." She rolled her eyes. "Oh God, now I sound like him."

"He's coming home, you know. He called Frasier earlier on his way to the airport."

"I know. He asked me to come with him."

"He did!" Martin sounded outraged once again. "Well, why didn't you?"

"Oh for God's sake, old man!" she burst out. "I was scared, alright? In case you haven't heard, my last transatlantic love affair wasn't exactly a happily-ever-after fairytale."

Martin sighed heavily. "I heard," he grunted. "I'm sorry about that, Daphne."

"Thank you," she said slowly. She still felt dazed. "And I was confused, as well."

"I know." He seemed to have twigged that she was back talking about Niles.

"I mean, I felt something for him, of course. But I wasn't sure if it was him, or if it was just me wanting to go back to Seattle, to my old life."

"You really believe that?" Martin asked, sounding surprised. She said nothing. "But it was more than that, wasn't it."

"I suppose." Absently she marvelled at the fact that Martin was able to get far more out of her with gentle prodding than the Crane brothers, with all their textbook techniques, ever could. "Part of me was also scared of breaking up with him. I'd lose him then, and you and Dr Crane into the bargain."

"But Daph, we haven't spoken in years!" Martin pointed out. "What've you got to lose?"

"But that wasn't my fault!" Daphne exclaimed, before backtracking. "I mean, I know technically it _was_ because _I _was the one who left and _I _was the one who never forwarded my address … but I just thought it would be easiest for everyone that way."

"I know you did, Daph."

She sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he soothed gruffly.

"Anyway," she continued, blowing her nose thoroughly and almost hearing him wince on the other end, "the point is, life just … took me away from you, you know? It was easy to let go of you all that way. It was the circumstances, you see – not like, say, me ruining everything by screwing up a relationship with someone I love. Nothing was tainted; I could cherish the memories and think fondly of you all and –"

"Oh, _bull_." Martin's tone was scornful.

Daphne was startled. "Eh – excuse me?" Her voice was like a little girl's, she knew.

"You ask me, you're paying too much heed of memories. What happened to the Daphne I knew – the spontaneous, vivacious girl who had visions?"

"I –"

"You're lingering in the past, Daphne, and that's no way to live. Now, you and Niles may have bypassed each other first time around, but this is a second chance you got here. You need to seize it before it's too late, you hear me?" He softened his tone. "Or didn't you hear yourself say you love him?"

* * *

Martin listened to the slightly crackly silence on the phone line. She was speechless.

"Look," he continued in a low voice. "Love isn't some sudden revelation or epiphany, you know that. It's more a gradual realisation. It can sneak up on you that way."

"I s-suppose."

Martin winced. She was tearful again. "Listen Daphne. I hear what you're sayin'. Maybe you're reluctant to come over here because you'd feel pressurised. You'd feel crowded by us all. I mean, it's been a damn long time. And God knows one of my boys is enough to take at a time."

She snickered through tears.

He smiled before continuing: "Just get over here, Daphne, whenever you can. Please, now that Niles has found you again – just visit. We've all missed you. Stay for a while, and then you kids can figure out what to do. If you want to be in London, he'll go with you, don't doubt that."

"You think he will?" Astonishingly, she sounded doubtful.

"Of course he will!" It was Frasier's voice, suddenly bellowing across the line. "You know what an Anglophile Niles is! That extends to more than just you, you know!"

Martin jumped a little in his chair. "Sorry about that, Daphne. It seems _someone's_ been listening in on the other line in the bedroom."

To his relief, she giggled. "And how are you, Dr Crane?"

Frasier had the good grace to sound sheepish. "Oh, I'm fine, Daphne dearest. I do apologise for that outburst, I –"

"Alright Frasier, you've done your bit, now run along," said Martin tartly.

"Oh, very well," sighed Frasier. There was a click as he hung up. After a moment Martin saw him re-emerge into the living room, looking at his shoes.

"Listen Daphne," Martin said, "Niles loves you."

There was a pause. "I know, Mr Crane," she breathed. She sounded a little gushy. "You know, that's the first time I heard it that it didn't – scare me."

Martin mentally patted himself on the back. "But," he continued, "as much as he does, maybe it's time you threw him a bone here. A man's only got so much strength."

Daphne sighed. "But … I can't do that without being certain it's right," she said beseechingly. "It wouldn't be fair! You mentioned my visions – I haven't had one in quite a while, Mr Crane. But I still believe in them. And I don't know any other way to make decisions than to – well – follow my fate, you know? Except this time it isn't clear."

Martin's teeth ground together. "Well, answer me this – what were the chances of you meeting him again, huh?" he demanded, trying to appeal to her kooky nature. "Wouldn't you say _that's_ fate?"

"Yes, but maybe it's fate that I just missed him!" she exclaimed. "Maybe it's fate that he left for the airport before I could get back here. I mean, if we were meant to be together, wouldn't there be some sign or –" She cut off her own sentence.

Martin grew slightly alarmed. "Daphne? Daphne?"

After a moment came her voice, distant and robotic. "I've got to go, Mr Crane."

There was a click as she hung up on him. He stared at the handset.

* * *

Daphne gazed at the plane ticket, sitting innocently enough on her countertop. He had left it for her. He'd left, but he hadn't lost faith in her.

A sign?

Suddenly, the feeling of being overwhelmed returned. She searched frantically for an accompanying note, some heartfelt words of farewell that would maybe let her off the hook or provide some beautiful closure. But there was none. Just that ticket, sitting there as hopeful and obliging as Niles himself. It made her heart ache to picture him leaving it there.

And there was only one thing she could do.

She dashed to her bedroom, digging out from her wardrobe a backpack she had only used once on a hiking trip with some girlfriends. Into it she threw some clothes, underwear, her toothbrush and her passport; next she grabbed her handbag and coat from the kitchen and dashed out the door, returning only to remember to pocket the plane ticket. Once down in the street, she hailed an amazingly convenient taxi.

"Heathrow, please," she told him breathlessly, grinning like a loon. His raised eyebrows told her that possibly he'd seen quite a few mad romance-driven dashes to the airport in his time. She smiled wryly to herself. Of course, she'd seen enough chickflicks in her time to know that accosting someone when they were about to fly out of your life only worked when you had some beautiful speech prepared. When you were sure of what to say. Sure of what you felt …

Just as soon as tiny needles of panic crept in, she shook them off. _That_, she told herself, _is the whole point of this mad ploy. _She would confront these feelings. No, resolve them.

No – embrace them.

Nervously, she tucked her hair back behind her ears. It amused her, in an abstract kind of way, that things were coming back around full circle. That having left Seattle to pursue a romance, she was now returning – to pursue a romance.

For a moment she thought of Clive. She used to thank her lucky stars for having got a second chance with him. Occasionally she used to torture herself about the extra five years they could've had together if only she'd never left for America. But she could never fully regret Seattle.

If she hadn't gone to Seattle, maybe she'd never have met _him_. Maybe _he_ was the one she'd been missing out on, these past three years. _Maybe _this_ is my second chance …_

Hastily she paid the cab driver and hurried through the airport's sliding doors. Miraculously there wasn't much of a queue at the check-in; she managed to pass her backpack off as hand luggage and the man at security only smiled benignly at her before letting her through. She wondered absently if there'd always been signs this obvious …

But then she made it to the departure lounge, which was crowded to jostling point. She stood rooted to the spot, turning her head this way and that as she scanned the room. _But the board says the flight's delayed … he _has _to be here …_

Suddenly she laid eyes on him, curled up tidily on three adjoining seats, surrounded by a small fortress of luggage. Looking impossibly serene in such a chaotic scene. Almost timidly she approached him. He was probably exhausted, emotionally, she realised. _That, and the fact that we didn't get much sleep last night …_

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Niles," she called softly. "It's me, Niles." Other than unconsciously shrugging her hand off, he remained oblivious. Glancing around at the melee, she realised that if he could sleep through _this_, then he obviously needed it.

With a sigh, she lifted his feet and sank into the seat, letting his feet fall back into her lap. Absently, she played with the tassels on his Bruno Maglis, watching fascinated at the way his brow furrowed and relaxed with each steady breath.

And she realised there was nowhere she'd rather be, than in this hellish airport trying to get comfortable in a moulded plastic seat, with a Korean couple arguing loudly across the way and next to her, a warm Armani-clad body tucked up and snuffling quietly in his sleep. She smiled, warmed by the sight of him, and allowed her hand to run once through his hair lightly. _You lovely thing, you._

She leaned back to where she could keep her eyes trained on the announcements board, waiting for the imminent SEATTLE.

And slipped her hand into his.

THE END


End file.
